Rose Tainted Snow

A snowflake fluttered into my eye, making it melt beneath my plastic eye contact. I shook my head, my mental capability at the moment told me that if I did so it would remove the blurriness from my eyesight, but, of course, that did nothing to help my problem. I sighed and returned to gaze at the tombstone.

As I did so I noticed that the petals that had once been attached to their stems were now scattered across the snow covered cemetery, making it look like there were blotches of blood stained onto the surface of the fluffy white substance.

I guess even nature mourns for the deceased, well-loved actress. Are you trying to make me feel worse then I already do? I silently asked the trees that surrounded me.

My “family” would shortly appear there along with the reporters and every other well-known person in the world. Even though it was only the anniversary of Lily's death it would be exactly the same as her funeral: paparazzi everywhere. Oh, wait, of course they would be there! Just this morning practically the whole household had called every newspaper, TV station, and every other reporting agency to tell them what time the family and other close friends would be arriving at her burial site. All they cared about was the glory and fame her death would bring.

Am I the only one who actually loved her for who she was and not for what she became? Wasn't there anyone else who was truly close to her that shared the same feelings as me? Even her boyfriend, the only other one who might have had the same feelings, only cared about the social status she gave him.

I was also supposed to be one of the family members that would attend the huge spectacle, but I refused to be part of the group that professed their sorrow for the actress, but didn't really feel it down to the core. They weren't human beings, they were monsters who didn't know what true pain felt like, who thought that the world was all roses and rainbows. I would not be grouped up with any of them even if my life depended on it.

But, wait, aren't I the same as them? Do I have the right to be calling them monsters when I was the one who killed her? Aren't I the true monster? I don't even have the right to be here, standing before her grave telling her that I'm sorry for what happened. She must be laughing at me right now, saying down to me, “What you? Sorry? You ruined everything for me! I'm dead while you're still alive, and yet you want me to believe that you actually feel sorry for what you did? Are you kidding me? I laugh at people like you.” Yes, this must be what she's thinking right now. How pitiful am I?

The ugly brown stems that were once covered by luscious rose petals had slipped from my fingers then and landed on top of the flat tombstone. I'd decided that it was time I returned to the manor house, although it didn't really matter if I did or didn't return home no one there took notice of me or cared what I was up to, so I turned back around and started to trudge back the way I'd come.

Right now, reader, you must be thinking that I'm a very unfeeling person for not producing one tear to shed during my stay at her grave, but you are quite mistaken. For the first six months after her death there wasn't a day where you couldn't see the remnants of a tear glistening on my pale cheek; in fact it was rather pathetic to witness. Even if I had wished to create one little droplet of water from my eye it simply wouldn't have come; I'd already cried so many tears that there were none left to spare for that occasion.

I may not have been showing my emotions on the outside at the time because I'd been using them all up for what had been going on in my head at the time (sometimes even now as I write this those pictures pop up in my mind). Every scene of that horrific night had been replaying over and over in my mind throughout the whole day, and right about that time it'd been ready to start all over again. Before I go into detail of what happened earlier I will give you a little background on how I first met Lily Adams.