In case you were wondering or didn't know, this is an old story that I have rewritten too many times to count. It's been on and off of FictionPress for years. Hopefully this is the winning rewrite. It may take me years to finish, it may only be a few months. I don't know. But I hope you enjoy whatever comes out, and let's all pray that this version is the one I stick with. (I already like it better than all of the past rewrites, so that's good.)
Okay. Done with the note. I'll let you read now.
Blood for a Rose
It all began with a rose.
Well, perhaps I should say that it began with a horrible little emotion called jealousy, and the consequences of the actions that followed it. After all, it was this jealousy that caused the deaths of two very beloved beings, and consequently created a war between two almost-immortal races. These races- the Faeries and the Ancients- would not come to peace until long after the true perpetrators of the crimes were dead and the memory of what they were fighting for was only a word passed on, a picture brought up in the mind, a thought barely even lucid in dreams.
No one remembered the completely pure love of those who had died, how Elura and Vaeor- an Ancient and a Faerie- had overcome their differences and fallen so deeply in love that it was thought not even death could separate them. No one remembered the clearing where they were brutally murdered, where their souls were said to live still in hopes that someone would one day bring justice where it was deserved. No one remembered anything about them, but for the roses that grew in that clearing and the powers they possessed.
Once discovered, these roses became the new objects for war. The anger and mourning was nearly forgotten in the eagerness these two races had to acquire unimaginable power- the power of life, and the power of death. Over time, the Ancients and the Faeries strove to keep each other from obtaining these powers for fear that whichever of them obtained either power would dominate and subsequently rule the known world.
This is where I come in.
You see, when I was a child, some great and ancient being decided that I would be the keeper of a rose. Rather, I was used as a receptacle for this rose because he- or she, or it- had nowhere else to put it. What followed was a series of events including gargoyles and beasts, Faeries and Ancients, love and war, jealousy and romance, death, life, and blood.
As exciting as that sounds, I didn't really know what was going on until it was almost too late, and there are too many things done that I cannot undo. There are lives lost that I could have saved if I had known what was within me. There are wrongs committed that I could have stopped, lies told that I could have revealed, trusts betrayed that I could have healed.
And as much as I would like to tell you that this story is going to have a happy ending, I can't. This isn't a story about how true love conquers all, nor how good always prevails over evil. In all honesty, love has no magical qualities, and if given the chance, evil is much more powerful than good.
All I can tell you is that all wrongdoings are revealed with time, and in this particular instance, justice was eventually served. If you will suffer to listen to me for just a while longer, I can tell you how.
First, let me introduce myself.
My name is Emmanuelle Rose LaRue. I am eighteen years old, fatherless, and I am at the heart of the greatest war this world will ever know.
This is the story of my life.