Zodiac 》Harry Styles

✍8

Rose's POV

Shifting around in my bed, I barely slept last night from the horrific events. I couldn't help but be grateful that it wasn't raw daylight. Even though there was barely any blood, just seeing her gray eyes staring into mine with her eyes wide open put me in a state of shock and terror. I sit up from my bed untangling my body from my duvet and checked my phone.

Today was the day where people were expecting me to attend the event at the art museum. Which in all honesty I'm not in the mood to even move from my bed.

Standing up and belting out a yawn I have to get dressed now in order to arrive at the event at a more appropriate time. Opening up my closet I pull out a strapless black dress and pair of white pumps.

It's a "fancy" place, open to anyone who cares for the love of arts. My plain outfit probably looks like I'm wearing a trash bag compared to the other women, and I couldn't care less at the moment.

Taking a quick shower and shaving, I throw on my dress and slide my feet into my shoes. Simple enough I suppose, looking at myself in the mirror as my trembling fingers get tangled into my dark brown hair as I twist it up into a tight bun.

Coating my lips with clear gloss and putting on a layer of mascara I was finally in my opinion presentable.

Grabbing my black purse of my dresser and putting my glasses inside just incase and now I'm on my way.

Walking through the extravagant, white door following with a path of black tiles. I look up paintings of angels hover over my head as the soft piano tune flew wistfully around the mellow building. Walking further in I was greeted my large crowds and small smiles.

I look to my right to see a canvas covered in what looked like red slashes, the painting catching my attention. Slowly I approach the painting, the closer I got the more baffled I became on how such a messy thing be shown as an amass beauty.

Putting my hands behind my back, I stare closely. That's when I feel a light tickle on my finger tips.

"Rose?" I turn around to see someone who couldn't leave my mind. "Hello Harry," a smile stretched across my face.

He nods returning the smile as he silently looks up at the painting I have been admiring. His eyebrows knit in concentration as he asks "what do you see in this?"

I let out a shaky breath, when it comes to me expressing what I have to say was always a dilemma for me.

"A-all people think about these days i-is money, sex, and power. To me this picture shows a beautiful catastrophe of what the outcome would be if we let our sanity slip between our finger tips. Dragging us into the unknown, but leading us into a place of deep despair. No one strong enough to try and break through, just weak enough to grasp onto to the materialistic jewels. Which they now figured aren't as precious as they thought it would be. What do you think of the picture Harry?"

"Styles."

"What?"

"My last name, is Styles."

"Oh well Harry Styles, I'm Rosemary Cage what do you think of this painting?" I let out a small giggle,

"I see a man" He sees my confused expression so he brings his slender finger up and pointed along the contours of the red slashes. "He's on his knees, as though showing a sign of distraught. Or even agony but his face presents a clear image of a smile. Not a real one, like he was forced to stay like this as his commander looks over him looming his power as this man stays in his place. I agree with you a lot this could mean, sex, materialism or even hope."