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THE CURSED ROSE Baron Otis Maximilian, circa 1837 The smell of roses flew around the air, attracting many insects and some humans - the now fully retired Baron being one of them, leisurely progressing towards the comely bushes. His mind was at calm for once, carelessly enjoying the moment of consolation. He leaned towards the plants, essaying to pick their flowers. “AAH!” An echoing scream spread across the gardens, the man falling to the ground as result of stumbling over a root. The body of the aging man hastening towards the cursed mangle of blossoms, which seemed to fully enclose him. Firstly, the thorns struck his wrist - reminding him of the time when he was bit by a Corcitură and subsequently turning into one. Secondly, his lips were pierced, florid blood slipping into his mouth, remembrance of when he sinfully fed on human prey. Thirdly, a vine with hiss as gentle as the Corcitură that originally glutted on his blood, began twisting around his neck. Tardily exhausting his body of life. Otis blindly pushed and ripped away at the bush, fighting for his existence, but ineffectively as the force of the plant became increasingly strong. The attempts only tore his skin and clothes furthermore, leaving him nearly naked. As the last breaths escaped his mouth, he continuously struggled in silence, reliving the worst and most pleasant moments of his life briskly. From the deaths of his beloved, the births of his children and grandchildren, and so on. Eventually the bush liberated the Baron, but his body laid onto the dirt - lifeless and naked, pale as the daisies nearby.
