A Story-Poem: Open the Door for the Blood-Stained Rose
A long time ago, a creature of innocence, standing clueless under the moonlight.
Little did she know that evil comes during the darkness of the night.
As the hands of darkness grasps her, as the silver blade touches her porcelain skin,
Crimson blood flows out, from the wound she has, deep within.
Death happens. Death is kind enough to take her hand,
Take her away to a faraway land.
But to her surprise, the faraway land, is the same as she walked in,
The land called Earth, the place of misery, sorrow and sin.
Innocence shattered, she longs for vengeance, and she longs to kill.
Never will the white rose, now stained red, stop, unless she finally had her fill.
Now, when the night comes, three knocks you will hear on your door,
Listen well, for you must answer:
“I am the only one behind this door, not two, not three, not four, not more.”
Getting the answer wrong will cost you your blood, and eventually, your life
But should you get the answer right, you will be saved, from her bloodthirsty knife.
Though she looks as something to be feared, show her kindness, and show her love
Treat her not as the demon from below, but as an angel from above.
Bloodied, her clothes may be,
It was never her fault, she simply shows what she wants you to see.
In the end, she will give you her love, because you are the only one who chose,
To open the door, for the blood-stained rose.