I have attended, in my seemingly short lifetime, very few occasions to which I was asked. In a further study, I did not believe myself quite learned in any particular field of science, nor did I hold my skills in the arts higher than my being rose from the ground; as such, the fine people of embroidered garments and polished, ebony boots rarely lifted their hats or begged my company to any such petit soirée. Only one such event to which I lent my presence for the evening lingers in my mind, for upon that dusk, my heart gently beat for another.
The gilded card arrived at my door accompanied by a swift knock upon the thick wood. Stately curls caressed the words upon it, and as I unfolded the rest of the letter, great streams of confusion; perhaps exuberance in a small quantity, bade me sink quickly into a high-backed chair. My eyes traveled down the small card, realizing that this was the first, and I feared only, time my presence was requested in a social gathering with the people of my town.
Although I had yet to attend an honourable event such as that of which I just read, and was equally untaught in the ways of society; my good social graces as well as curiosity in its purest form saw me, in charcoal clothing and shining boots, set out upon the night of the soirée. It was a nasty night: the rain smote my visage and rolled as yawning spirits off the tips of my collar. It was moonless and without almost any luminous form lingering in near vicinity to the arc made by the swinging of my coat. My attention was only snared from the upcoming amusement at the gathering by a lump that formed under the surface of one of my footsteps, about halfway to my destination. Arrested completely and quite thoroughly soaked, I bent over to better view what had found its way beneath my boot. A dark flower, most obviously thirsting upon rainwater for several hours, cast the slightest of shadows upon the the cobbled street from what little light had fought through the mist-filled nighttide. A curious happening indeed; since not only had the rose preserved its white cream purity, it was also reposing in a horrific spilling of blood. Even through the pitch of the nocturne, it was clearly apparent that the pool had yet to taint its petals with one dabble of the crimson essence. Some unnamed force, even unknown to me to this day, bade me snatch the flower from the puddle and carry it on with me to my soirée - hidden, of course, within the layers of my coat. Had I known that this one fleur would stand on its own for all of my sinful actuality, its stark figure lashing to my very soul, perhaps I would have questioned my choice to carry such a metaphorically heavy burden in my coat.
At length, my journey took me to a grand château. I may say it was grand, because it was so unlike my own; even the servant who summoned my entrance was vested in clothing much richer than my own daily wear. The house was decored in royal forest green and red cherry woodworking that was reflected throughout in the furniture. My ears were graced with an arabesque chime from a faraway piano, and rich wine was served during the night.
Far from nourriture et boissons, and even la verte de les chaises, perhaps the most remarkable happening upon the black of the night was my meeting with my dear Vanessa R--. Even as she began to approach me and traverse the plush tapestries upon the floor, the captivation held from her presence could not be served with words in this existence. I could not justice the black chalcedony that shone in her eyes, nor the matched sable cascading in ringlets from the crown of her head. I fell deeply in love, and yet somewhere in the nethermost of my soul, I felt I was purged of every honourable and just strain of thought. This, either as a warning or simply an overreaction of my mind, I did not heed. She uttered not one vocal word, but paused laconically to place a single piece of parchment into my hand. I pushed the papîer into my coat, and excused myself for the walk back to my own hearthside.
Overcome with a deep and quite unexplained feeling of anguish, I hung my hat beside the door and rested next to the coals of a timeworn fire to pore over the contents of the note from the jolie dame. The beats of my heart drew ever nearer one another as I read:
One rose sits upon your breast
And on my mind's eye in due course;
I pray for mercy on your beloved cause
Lest you let your meaning slip away
And every petal you thought purest white
Finds its way to a core fountain of rich blush.

I felt my fire of hours past burn on my chest with each succeeding word. My hand sought to quell the pain and I brought it back down from the hot surface of my coat, my very blood running between my fingers. Viewing the rose as a singular source of evil, I wrenched open my coat and threw it to the floor, its shape echoing in shadow from the orange luminaries of the coals.
All love forgotten, and blinded with a maniacal rage, my fingers crawled the rug and closed upon the thorned stem of the snow rose. I had every intention of ridding my abode of the scandalizing vegetation and searing it within the blackened coals, yet something stayed and redirected my hand. Instead, I pierced the offending note through the center, somehow attributing the outcome of my misfortune with the flower to the now abhorrent Vanessa R--. Shining scarlet serum overflowed the flower, and for the first time since the hour in which I had so unfortuitously gained it, the petals of the rose were dyed with the color of the liquid that gushed from the note's impalement. Red petals, a symbol of my sovereign crime - and I knew then that the candle of Vanessa's life had been extinguished by my own hand.