• They were of gorgeous color, the petals. They were awfully mesmerizing, as well.

    I tore one off of the enchanted rose, completely taken aback by its amazing color. When I turned it to the left, the petal would appear to be crimson with blooming pink lines dancing across the sides and center. But when I turned it to the right, the petal would be a shade of crispy gold, with deep, ocean blue swirls swimming across its perimeter.
    In a few minutes, the petal would fade in color and whither into ashy gray specks. Every time the magic would die, I’d pull off another petal. Each petal was different in color, each petal was better than the last.

    It was like the petals were forcing my eyes to spectate their amazing features, like a human who couldn’t get enough attention. Yet each time the petal died, I couldn’t help but pull off another.
    Petal after petal, I feasted my eyes on the new colors the enchanted rose provided. Even the texture of the petals were heavenly. All of them felt as if they were cloaked in velvet- every time you’d push your finger upwards on the petal, you’d feel a fuzzy little switch. Every time you’d push your finger downwards on the petal, you’d feel a tiny tingle that sent an almost unnoticeable shiver down your spine.

    I just couldn’t get enough, until I realized that there were no more petals on the enchanted rose. I gently picked up the stem that was left. Sparks of gold fell on the floor as if the enchanted rose was done for. No more. No more wonderous colours to give me. No more pleasure to give to my eyes.

    I felt a pric.k on my finger and dropped the enchanted rose immediately, letting it tumble down the dusty stone steps. I watched as it transformed into a thorn packed death rose.

    And yet I found it amazing how good could turn to bad so quickly.