Rose's Descent

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When you don’t have the love of your mother, you’re left with no other choice but to take love and all it entails into your own hands. Even if it isn’t the right kind of love. Even when, really, you should focus on loving yourself. ~Rose

Deals…

“Ah, this will make for a good one,” says the owner of the golden quill as he begins tallying up his agreements.

Deals struck, contracts signed, he keeps the book close to his chest. No one thinks to check the one place there is a hole—his heart. He keeps them all there, locked away, never to become exposed. They are more attracted to his golden pen than they are aware of the actual verbiage they’re agreeing to. But once the pen touches its target, the need takes over, ensuring the holder of said pen agrees. His pen comes in many shapes and sizes, a trick of the eye. Some sign by voice alone, while others wield the pen, giving away their hopes and dreams with broad strokes of the soul.

Looking over the list, he comes across a few that are near and dear to his heart. Things promised, and interests gained. The pen feeds his needs, and he, in turn, feeds the pen. It’s symbiotic. His next target is an easy mark. She suffers from pain unrealized. It’s hardened her heart and replaced her loss with self-loathing. She wants a cure to what ails her, and the pen knows exactly what she needs.

He watches and waits, pen in hand, his proposal well thought out. But first, he wants her story.