The Name Of The Rose.

The worst of times, the most beautiful of souls, the cruelest game of fate

The intertwining confusion of the individual and the family, freedom and responsibility, reason and passion

The encounter between the Duchess and the rebel, the reunion of the crimson-eyed sorceress and the governor

Time and again, parting in life and death, time and again, brushing past each other

Having traversed the harsh spring and severe winter, having passed by the guillotine and the long street, having journeyed through the purgatory of blood and suffering

When familiar gazes meet once more, love blooms like a radiant rose, flourishing in splendid beauty.

Some say that love is a river, submerging the will of the feeble reeds

Some say that love is a sharp blade, allowing your soul to bleed freely

Some say that love is a kind of thirst, an endless demand for suffering

I say, love is a blooming flower, and you are its only seed

The Rose