The cursed roses.

Prologue

Usually when a person sends you flowers you smile, maybe write a thank you note, but not here. Not now, not after everything that's happened here. Not after all the lives that have been lost. The poor souls forsaken. Nobody even prays anymore. Once people see the sugar coated death on their doorstep, they just sigh and do nothing. They put the roses, or sunflowers, or whatever flower it was that day in a vase, to save for the funeral. Who would've thought the sweet smell of lilacs and roses would ever grow into the smell of sorrow and sadness?