Until that morning Lilly had been one of the rose maidens, a fine, majestic princess of a rose. The morning dew coated her from stem to petals, causing a transformation to take place. She tumbled, tearing herself from the branch that held her. When she came to her senses she saw that she was human. She knelt in the soil before the bush of roses she had left behind, embracing it despite the thorns pressing into her. Suddenly an emotion of sadness overcame her, and she ascertained a different kind of dew welling into her eyes, moving in rivulets across the beauty of her countenance. She tried to recall her name, but it seemed to her that she had never known it. She looked at her hands and saw that her skin had begun to shrivel. She was growing old. She returned to the bush, and removed her most cherished companion from his place among the thorns. She brought him to her lips and brushed a kiss onto his tender red skin. Her wrinkles vanished. She was young again. But only for the fleeting measure of a summer breeze.

Story #273