“Do you love me, Qurrah?” the girl asked. Her voice was thunderous in the silence.

“Yes,” he gasped.

“Would you give your life to me? Would you die so that I may live?”

The redness swirled faster. The whole world was flowers. He tried to speak but the powdery taste of petals numbed his tongue.

“Would you, Qurrah?” the girl asked, suddenly shy and quiet. “Would you?”

The petals vanished, and he saw his lover standing before a vast emptiness. The sight lit his heart aflame. When she vanished within the dark, the flame died in painful agony.

“Yes,” he gasped. “My life is yours, and I give it gladly.”

The thorns withdrew from his flesh. The owls and the cicadas began songs anew. Tessanna knelt before Qurrah, who had collapsed to his knees. She took the rose from his hand and held it to her chest. Blood, Qurrah’s blood, ran between her breasts.

“I’m sorry, Qurrah,” she whispered.

“What did you do to me?” he asked, his strength slowly returning. He couldn’t believe the incredible relief he felt when the rose was taken from his hand.

“It is the rose of the maiden,” she said. “Only those who are truly in love can touch it without feeling its anger. Those ruled not by love but by anger, or fear, or hatred, or vengeance…it brings those to the dirt for the forest to consume.”

“You were testing me,” Qurrah said.

Tessanna crushed the rose and dropped the pieces to the ground. The softly luminescent ghost appeared once more, hovering between them. Slowly it drifted downward, resuming its perch just above the earth. The young woman grabbed Qurrah’s hands and pulled him to her.

“It will be the last time,” she said, pressing her lips to his. “It has been many years before love was made before this rose. Would you, Qurrah? Would you let this be our wedding, the rose our priest, the forest our witness?”