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║petals, hold me delicately! ━━━ (CHAPTER NINE)
GIRLS LIKE SOL feel the grass in the space between their fingers, what once was sharper than sunlight gleaming across its side turning soft from her touch. Girls like Galgaria bleed pink because bleeding blue is for boys and she wraps femininity around herself like rolling in a blanket of satin sheets, embracing what she loves. Girls like Mirela compare their memories to a garden — good memories are akin to blooming roses, awful memories are akin to undesirable weeds plaguing the corners of her bubblegum spat brain. Girls like Andie are sweet like soda on sunny days but bitter like coffee on rainy days. Girls like Selena grow out their nails long enough to pluck someone's eyes out of envy, gossip being her mother tongue with her pupils occasionally reflecting that neon pink and red seen flashing late in midnight clubs. And then there were girls like Anemone, who was more something else than just girl with a planet on her shoulders and lungs suffocating from smoke, a polluted body and a corrupted mind with her rusting ribcages holding out long enough to protect her rose gold heart.
Girls like Puli are cupid's descendant as she strikes arrows of love into everyone's beating burning brick-red hearts. Girls like Wainsley weave their fascinating imagination into words for every thought kicking her mind into overdrive constantly was ineffable. Girls like Hedera adorn heart-shaped sunglasses and mould the petals of sunflowers into heart shapes, her quixotic dreams always keeping her sane. Girls like Risacca dream about dancing in thorn-less rose gardens over the horizon but forget to enjoy the roses blooming outside her windows today. And then there were girls like Kirsi who nip baby-soft skins with slithering coaxes of encouragement, perhaps she was a godless snake who had yet to shed her skin?
These girls are known as the moonlight maidens within the Clover knights. But they do not cradle the stars in their eyes and bathe moonlight in their hair, they do not split their hearts into crescents and mindlessly spoon-feed them to their significant other (they are careful! and their hearts are fragile! beware when they decide to open up for you!) and they do not dare allow a moon-glow lake and their dancing moonbow fairies lull them to sleep.
These girls are just girls. Who eats until they're full, who overeats or undereats depending on their mood. Who sleeps soundlessly on sunshine silk sheets mumbling verses of gratitude. Who thinks and thinks and thinks until they wish the earth will swallow them up whole. It's unhealthy but sweet. Like biting into strawberry-flavoured marshmallow as pink powders your lips.
These are the Blue Rose Knights. Giving off a fierce impression at first with the thorns on their stem, the plethora of violet blue petals refusing to unfold, the stalk of their spine standing tall unwilling to bend in the face of the wind.
These are the Blue Rose Knights and no matter what people say, they are not to be underestimated as gossip girls with pretty pink tongues and full oil-black lashes and smiles of angels.
