She is a rose, a rose growing over thorns. An encapsulation of the suffocation that a woman endures in her life. The people around her lead their mighty quests to bring her down, to trample over her thoughts, to nip her in the bud, to see her wither and decay.

Ensnared in a world of chaos, she began to wilt. Her petals drooped. Her colours disappeared. She became everything dark and melancholy.

Little did the dark powers around her know that she nurtured a garden within her. A world of infinite hues within her soul. A world unbeknownst to all but her.

Within her very veins oozed the red, that painted the roses of her soul red. She is breathing now, like never before. A smile finds its way to her face. It stays, refusing to leave.

After all, a rose that never wilts isn't a rose at all.

Medium: Graphite on paper Content: Athira Rengith