Love is a rose; but you better not pick it. It only grows when it's on a vine.

A handful of thorns means that you've missed it.

She loomed over him, devious eyes narrowed into slits. She fingered her blade carefully as she watched him breathe. Tonight the strongest man will die, and Vorona will be the vicinity. That fact does little to soothe her.

Vorona closed her eyes.

Calm.

Loving him was painful. She could not go on like this, torn between her desire for the kill and the reluctance to lay a finger on him. But now she could do it. She must act now before she loses her nerve. She must move now, before her heart tears into from the turmoil.

She could not go on living if he still existed. It would destroy her. So she must, it was her duty to herself, killing was in her blood, this was her mission. And she had to accept it.

She ghosted a finger over his toned abs, concealed by a thin T-shirt. How she wished she could love him. She felt them ripple beneath her touch. How she wished she could break. Her face is stoic, her finger travel up his chest. She feels him shiver underneath her. She watches him sleep in twisted interest as she traces his muscles.

His face is serene, relaxed, blissfully unaware. She remembers someone saying that people look younger when they sleep. He looked years younger, more innocent too. It saddened her. His jaw was slack, his eye brows raised slightly, and he seemed vulnerable. Now was the time. Vorona knew it deep inside her; she could not put it off any longer.

She drew the blade to his neck, slicing down his shirt slowly, feeling the seams rip and tear one by one. He does not stir. She feels pleased when her suspicions were proven correct, he was a deep sleeper. She had studied his patterns for countless nights, watching, waiting. Everything was falling into place, just like she had predicted it would.

Perfect.

She gazes at his revealed chest, her eyes thoughtful as his chest rises and falls. She drags her blade lazily around his chest in sick fascination when she does not draw blood. Vorona lets it rest atop his heart, her glare unblinking as she willed her grasp to tighten. Vorona narrows her eyes in impatience as she removes the blade, leading it down to his solid abs.

Shizuo + Vorona she writes lazily, applying just enough force to draw blood, but not enough to wake him. She watches the ruby beads bubble up over the words, her eyes glazed.

Fortissimo Deeper this time, more rugged, her glassy eyes watch the crimson spill over.

Love sharp jagged edges, sloppy, clenched fingers. Vorona clenches her teeth in frustration.

She cannot put it off any longer. She was wasting time. She had to act! A sadistic gleam shines in her eyes as the words blur and come together. She shifts carefully, holding her breath as he murmurs something incoherent in his sleep.

She lets her breath go sparingly, loosening her muscles, slinking into position until she is hanging over him. Vorona brings the knife up to his neck. Her eyes cold and numb and devoid of feeling.

The pearly blade is slick with a coat of his blood as it hovers over his ivory skin. She takes a breath, counting down the seconds to the end of his life. Smells his sweet breath on her, feels his warmth, observes his eyes as they flicker behind his eyelids.

So unaware, he will become cold, dead before he can comprehend what just happened. Lifeless just like the rest of Vorona's victims.

She listens to the loud silence in her ears as her calculating eyes let him enjoy the rest of his consciousness. It's over for him now. The false calm will be shattered. Shizuo will be dead. Vorona will be the one to be feared, the slayer of the monster.

She takes the plunge, digging her blade deep inside his jugular, twisting it as his eyes snap open, full of surprise and a hint of fear. Vorona does not take her eyes off her task. Sinking the blade in to the hilt, blood spewing out in return. He jerks and twists under her, trying to fight her as his everlasting strength drains away. His eyes are hollow and vacant as he gazes up at her, confusion in his honey colored irises.

Don't look at him. Don't look at those shocked, helpless mocha eyes that once held so much warmth and looked at you with such pride because you were his kohai and he trusted you.

Don't look at those fear filled eyes that don't understand much of anything at the moment, only that he's going to die and it's your fault.

Waves of red coat her fingers and hands, splash up upon her as he tries to breathe, talk, do something. Shizuo coughs weakly, and it splatters on her face as she releases her grip soiled blade and watches it lodge into his torn throat, wedged beside his windpipe and he struggles to understand.

He wheezes, taking shallow breathes as his throat closes up.

She leans forward and closes the gap between him, planting her hands on either side of his head and kisses him fiercely, pressing herself up against his sturdy chest, Shizuo's blood soaking into her shirt. Her tongue explored every inch of his mouth, his own tongue lay limp and unresponsive as she probed deeper inside.

She licked the walls of his mouth, breathing in his scent, heavy with the pungent perfume of his lifeblood. She deepened the kiss, sucking on his bottom lip as she withdrew, her eyes dark.

She nibbled on his lips, the sour tang of his blood in her mouth, dribbling down the side of her mouth. She gazes thoughtfully into his dull eyes, as if waiting for a reaction. But his eyes glossy and unseeing as his life faded from him.

She takes his cooling hand absentmindedly with her own, bloodstained and trembling, and smiles sweetly though clenched teeth. She clutches his hand to face as she strokes his hair dreamily though lust-filled eyes, grinning softly.

She plants one last kiss on his ashen forehead, pushing his blonde locks out of the way before rolling herself off his still form. She moves lethargically, retrieving her stained knife as she leaves.

"I love you…" She purrs into deaf ears, before she abandons her lover that never was. She drags her feet across the floor sluggishly, savoring his taste that still lingered in her mouth as she made her escape.

Vorona laughs gently, unstable and pitched, sending a chill into the night. Her shrill laugh echoes into the dark as she dances under the moon. And it remained unheard as she stalked off unloved into the shadows that have taken over her.

Something inside her breaks. And Vorona embraces the change as she takes a step closer to insanity.

She could not love. She was a monster.

Where have all the flowers gone?