🥀 Beneath the Black Roses

A Seraphina and Eveline story The moon was the only witness to their love. Seraphina sat beneath the black roses, her silver hair spilling over her shoulders like moonlight. Even here, in the garden where nothing living dared to grow, flowers bloomed wherever she walked. Eveline hated that about her. Not because it was ugly, but because it was beautiful—and Eveline had spent her entire life learning to destroy beautiful things before they could be taken from her. “You're staring again,” Seraphina whispered. “I'm wondering how someone so holy can be so irritating.” Seraphina laughed softly. “And I'm wondering how someone so wicked can be so gentle.” Eveline's smile faltered. No one had ever called her gentle before. She leaned against Seraphina's shoulder, pretending the gesture meant nothing. Seraphina said nothing, only reached for her gloved hand and held it as though it were something precious. For a little while, neither of them was a saint nor a witch. They were simply two girls beneath a moon that asked nothing of them. “Seraphina?” Eveline murmured. “Hmm?” “If I forgot you someday, would you hate me?” Seraphina turned to face her. “Why would you ever forget me?” “Answer me.” The saint studied her lover's crimson eyes. She saw the fear hidden behind the sharp tongue, the loneliness buried beneath every cruel joke. “No,” she said, brushing a strand of black hair from Eveline's face. “Even if you forgot my name, I would find you again.” Eveline closed her eyes. She wanted to believe her. But deep beneath the cathedral, the Hollow God was waking, and its ancient hunger had already begun to whisper Eveline's name. Three nights later, Seraphina discovered the truth: the only way to save the kingdom was to give her life to the god. She made her decision before dawn. And she left Eveline a letter. My dearest witch, You once told me that love should never be a cage. I think I finally understand. I wish I could have stayed. I wish we could have grown old together, arguing over ridiculous things beneath our roses. I wish I could have seen your hair turn silver, so I might tease you for stealing my color. But if the world must take one of us, let it take me. Please don't turn your grief into another curse. And if you ever find yourself beneath the moon, wondering whether I loved you— Look at the flowers. I have left you all the ones I could. Forever yours, Seraphina. When Eveline reached the cathedral, the ritual had already begun. She screamed Seraphina's name until her voice broke. She clawed at the sealed doors, begging the saints, the witches, and every god she had ever cursed to give her back the one person she had never wanted to lose. But the doors did not open. And when the light finally faded, Seraphina was gone. Eveline could have let the kingdom fall. She could have drowned the world in her grief. Instead, she performed one final spell, releasing the stolen memories of the dead. The price was everything she remembered of Seraphina. The spell took her lover's voice first. Then her smile. Then the warmth of her hand. Years later, a woman with raven-black hair walked through a ruined garden beneath a silver moon. She stopped before a grave without a name and placed a white rose upon it. She did not know why she came here. She did not know why the sight of the grave made her chest ache. But as she turned away, a single black rose bloomed beside the white one. And somewhere, deep in the silence between the living and the dead, a voice whispered: "I found you again." Eveline stopped. For one impossible heartbeat, she felt someone gently take her hand. She smiled through tears she could not explain. “Whoever you are,” she whispered to the moon, “I hope I loved you well.” The rose petals stirred in the wind. And beneath the black roses, two shadows rested together—one silver, one dark—as if death itself had finally grown tired of keeping them apart.