KISS FROM A ROSE || giving out roses

[size=9pt]It's been well established by now that the night has a habit of taking Moon in its grasp and leaving him with purple washed bruises that only show by the time the sun rises. He turns into a cowering child, tangled up in his nightmares, afraid of the dark. And with Winter comes longer nights and shorter days, and he hates it. He's terrified of it.

So you could say he could do with spending some time in Imperia's garden. If only he knew about it. Unfortunately, when he spotted the wolf emerging from the obscure building she came from, he had know idea where she'd been. Where the hell she'd gotten her basket full of flowers from. But one thing he knew for sure was that she looked like something out of a fairytale. Ones with wolves who were prettier than the princesses.

"I hate roses." He says, glancing at her with a sunken golden gaze. His voice is scratchy, torn. It's the first time he's used it that day. There's an image of Marg's body, collapsed to the ground and surrounded by the same flowers Imperia carries spinning in his head, but he holds her gaze and, slowly, things get more bearable. "But I could use some luck." He settles on, voice hushed, before he sucks in a breath, sets his shoulders back and seems to rebuild himself. He clears his throat. "La Vie En Rose." Muses the lion, carrying himself closer to her side and leaning over to inspect the flowers. He can hear Louis Armstrong's voice in his head. "Where'd you get these from, Frenchie?"