Copyright © 2012
All things associated and part of this story as well as others are copyrighted by the Copyrights, Designs, and Patents Act of 1988. All rights are reserved by the owner of this account and of these copyrights, known by her username 'indigo175,' of other things. Any person who does any unauthorized copying, selling, distributing, broadcasting, or manipulation of this work for immoral purposes will be prosecuted by the law.
Note: This is based on the song 'Rotten Girl, Grotesque Romance' as sung by Hatsune Miku, the Japanese Vocaloid.
If you want an English version, rockleetist has a good English fandub that I would recommend. It is on YouTube. Just type in the name of this story along with 'rockleetist.'
THIS SONG IS NOOOTTTT FOR THE WEAK-MINDED OR WEAK-STOMACHED.
The story of the song itself is based on this story from creepypasta: http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Rotten_Girl,_Grotesque_Romance
Yes, it ACTUALLY happened.
I'm here to tell you my interpretation.
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The girl looked at the picture in her hand.
The subject of the picture was in mid-laugh,the twinkle in their eye revealing the fact that they were fond of the person who made them laugh.
The subject was a boy, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. Not old enough to be a man, perhaps, but close. He had the tiny hint of a wispy beard on his chin, matching the color of the hair peeking out from his top hat.
Yes, his top hat. It made him give off an aura of importance, and matched his suit. (Although the suit wasn't in the picture.)
The boy was looking a little past the camera, his blue eyes centered on something beyond. Maybe it was the person that made him laugh.
The photo looked like it was taken at dusk, but only the lighting gave that away. Other than the boy and a part of his hat, there was nothing else in the photo. It was an extreme close-up, so close that one could see the two freckles on his neck, one beside the other, and the other few on his nose, dusted orange by the twilight sun.
The girl turned the photo around, almost not bearing to look away from his face.
She lay the photo flat on her desk and wrote something on the back.
Alexander.
Then, using two loops of Scotch tape, she secured the photo to the wall on the surface of which hundreds of pictures of the same boy were taped.
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The girl brushed her beautiful blond hair for the last time, the teeth of the brush touching her scalp.
For a moment, she peeled her eyes off the window to look at herself in her vanity mirror.
Perfect.
First impressions mean a lot.
Then she heard the noise: thwack.
She rushed to her window to see what caused it, leaving her brush on her vanity table for a moment, her hair fanning out behind her for a moment as she went to the window.
She saw the source of the thwack sliding down the roof, slowly due to the fact that the roof didn't have much of a slant to it.
It was a crimson-red rose, tied with a velvet ribbon the same color as its petals. Tumbling down to the ground. Thrown by somebody from below.
The girl unlatched her window. The person waiting in her driveway below, along with a dark blue car, called out: "Come on, Melody! I don't have all day for you to put your makeup on!"
But even as he said it, he grinned.
She blew a kiss from the window, then ran down the stairs as fast as you could do so i
