1/1 Arts World: The Crimson Rose Trap🌹

She sank into the foam, eyes closed, Steam rising, candles low. Behind her — darkness, breath of rose, A shadow moving slow.

He watches, hungry, wants to play, To punish, tease, and bind. But who's the hunter? Who's the prey? The trap may be her mind.

Her lips are painted crimson red, Her scent — a dangerous rose. He thinks he stalks... but turns his head — She's already disposed.

The door clicks shut. He cannot flee. Her eyes burn, wild and deep. The game was his... but now is she The one who doesn't sleep.