The Myth of the Rose by Papillon - papillon_hentai@bigfoot.com No spoilers. Disclaimers/notes/explanations: see ending *** The heart is a secret garden, and the walls are very high, but a Prince holds the key to all maidens dreaming. Once upon a time, there was a Prince made all of glass, colorless and pure, with hair like white silk and eyes that burned full of stars. And the Prince rode a white horse over the land of Silences, a world painted in shades of gray. In the wild reaches, there was a garden, grown over with ivy and neglect. But at the light of the Prince's sword, a way was made open - for one only. Horseless now, past curtains of vines the Prince strode, into a world of blossom and song. Roses, a thousand thousand roses, their heavy heads nodding, wet with dew. Roses, and not a petal fallen. Roses, and all the colors lost from the land of Silences are played across their palette, a rose of every hue. Like a joyful scream, they sparkled. Beneath the Prince's feet, the stones were worn and stained with moss, so that even they, green, were a sight unknown in the land of Silences. A pathway, leading inwards, to the heart of the garden. In the center of the garden there was a fountain, round and empty, and in the center of the fountain stood a woman, more wild and beautiful even than the roses, with a crown of rubies on her head. "Welcome to the Garden of the Roses," she said. "What is your desire?" "I am your Prince, and I am come to free you." The woman laughed, a fierce, mad laugh. "Free? I am free. This is the only place where I can be free." "All Princesses dwell in towers," said the Prince, "and must be set free from them." "This is freedom," said the woman. "Here all desires are found. Here is color, and beauty. Here I am." "If you are free," said the Prince, "will you leave the garden with me?" "No," said the woman. "Then you are not free," said the Prince, "and I must rescue you." The woman's hair laughed around her like raindrops. "What is there, outside of this garden, that I might want? Can your world be more beautiful than this?" She spread her hands, indicating the rainbow of roses, each a perfect mystery, with no sign of age or disease, no petals shed. "My world is not so brightly colored as yours," the Prince admitted. "But in my world there are mountains and waterfalls, deserts and oceans. Here, you have only roses. Lovely as they are, you have only roses." The woman smiled. "I am the Bride of the Roses, and I cannot leave the garden," she said, "I am the roses, and the roses are mine. Without me, the roses would wither and die. Would you, a Prince, kill a rose?" The Prince thought about this. "I cannot, in honor, cause the death of a rose," the Prince decided. "But if I cannot free you, then I must leave." "Stay," breathed the woman, and the scent of the flowers hung heavy on the stillness. "I cannot," said the Prince, "for there are other Princesses I must save." "Am I not beautiful?" the woman demanded. "You are fairer than any sight in the world I have known," the Prince stated, "but my honor demands that I save every maiden and not content myself with but one." "Stay," she commanded, and tendrils fired themselves from her fingers, twining themselves around the body of the Prince. "For I wish it so, and this is the garden of my desire." Rose vines wrapped themeslves around the Prince, tearing away clothing, but the Prince did not struggle. Thorns, a dozen dozen thorns piercing the skin, but their sharp points did not shatter the glass Prince. Instead, where the thorns pricked, color flowed into the Prince, making flesh out of glass. From each point spread a circle of pink, rosy as a newborn, across the body of the Prince, and she - for the Prince was a woman now - cried out with the pain and the joy of it. The Bride of the Roses stepped closer to the captive Prince, and his hair - for the Bride was a man now - whipped like lightning. "This is the garden of desire," he said. "All desires, all dreams, mine and everyone's, and it is my garden because I am at the center of it. I am the desire of all people, and you will be my desire, my Bride, as I am yours." The Prince hung, naked and feminine, from the thorny teeth of the roses, and her hair was a scented fall of pink. Every inch of her skin blushed, yet she met his eyes unflinchingly. "I challenge you," she spoke. "I challenge you to a duel." The Bride laughed. "And if I refuse?" "You cannot," the Prince stated simply, "for that is my desire, and that is the way of things." The Bride's eyes flashed. "Very well. If you win, you are free to leave the garden. If I defeat you, you will remain here forever." "I accept your terms," said the Prince, and the rose vines released her. The Bride reached into a rosebush and seized a flower by its stem, drawing out a sword of thorns, with a blossom at its hilt. The rosebush shuddered, and as a hot breeze rose up, the petals of each blossom were released onto the wind. The Prince gathered up her fallen sword from the shreds of her lost clothing, and took up a defensive stance. With a scream, the Bride charged, slicing the air with his great sword. The Prince dodged, and the blade of thorns cut into another rosebush, scattering petals like ashes. Round and round they danced, but the Prince was fleet of foot, and the sword of thorns could not touch her. The sword of the Prince was made of glass, forged all in one piece and unsmirched by blood. But the Prince only held it and did not wield it. The Bride's swordplay was full of passion and fire, but not of skill; a single stroke from the Prince could have breached his defenses. Yet the Prince only dodged, and her sword did not meet even the blade of the Bride. With every pass, another cluster of roses fell, and in the heart of the garden, the fountain ran red with shattered blooms. At last there was only one rose bush left untouched, and the Prince stood before it, bearing a sword of pure glass. The Bride raised his blade - and the Prince turned around, leaving her back open to her opponent, and flung the glass sword away. The sword of glass drove into the heart of the roses, and exploded. The sword of thorns drove into the heart of the Prince, and expanded. As the last of the Bride's brilliant rose petals fell to the ground, the sword of thorns took root within the Prince, and grew outwards, clothing her in tendrils and teeth. Into the fountain she fell, curled like a child on the bed of rose petals. The Bride stood, divulged of her weapon, for she was female now, and bare as a baby. She looked down upon the fallen Prince, and the rubies fell from her brow. "You have freed me, my love," she spoke, and walked away from the garden. The Prince was robed in roots and vines, and the leaves filled her mouth so she could not cry out. And all around her, the roses grew, pale and strange, for such was the heart of the Prince. The former Bride of the Roses mounted the white horse and rode out into a land that would not remain silent, for where she passed, all the colors of the garden followed, and the land was made new. Joy was come into the world, and suffering, and all the rainbow in between. And all voices praised the Princess. In the wild reaches, in a garden grown over with ivy and neglect, slumbered the Bride of the Roses. Notes: This may not be finished. After all, I haven't seen the entire series, nor even most of it. This is partially based on a dream. Not my dream. A dream someone dreamed about me. I'm not saying which of the two I was. Anyway, something in the dream cried out to be made into a fairytale, and how can we tell a fairytale about roses without thinking of Utena? :) Comments welcomed, don't forget to take out the nospam. -- Free FTP Hentai Hosting! - http://ecchi.sexplanets.com/ Cosplay, Goth, and More - http://www.costumesex.com/ Hentai Fanfiction - http://come.to/hentaireview Of Mars and Moon - http://hammer.prohosting.com/~mudlick