As nations moved to great wheels orbiting the Earth, the ancient heritage of the planet below was left to rot. On one of these wheels — the Gilded Patchwork Wheel — lived our hero, an eight-year-old boy destined to inherit the throne of this floating kingdom.
But fate had other plans.
In a moment that would be burned into his soul forever, he looked up at his grandfather — the man who had once cradled him with love — now standing above, eyes cold, voice sharp:
"Return to your place, you filthy little liar."
And with that, he pushed him from the edge of the Wheel.
As the boy fell, only one thought echoed in his mind:
**"Aren't I the heir? Doesn't he love me? Why would he throw me away?"**
He hit the Earth like a meteor — flesh and blood splattered, no longer recognizable as a child.
*Click. Click.*
A stranger approached.
"What a filthy lump of meat. Such a waste of loot... Hmmm… Hey, kid. Think this is unfair? Hahahaha. You're not the first. You're not the last. And you're certainly not special."
The figure leaned in, a twisted grin stretching across his face.
"But hmmm… do you want revenge?"
"I can't turn back time. I can't fix your body. But I *can* place your soul into a flower. Hahaha — no, I'm not joking."
"Live like that if you want. Wait to be picked as a gift for someone's beloved… or… hmm, who knows? It's up to you. Think of it as a gift. I don't need anything in return."
And so, the boy's soul was sealed within a white rose, now tainted with blood.
Now then… what awaits you, little white rose?
---
---
Day by day, I feel it more —
the wind that rushes around me,
the sun that scorches my leaves,
the dust that clings and chokes and stains.
Yes… this is hell. A painful, dry hell.
What cruel weather.
But after all this torment…
*Drip… drip…*
(The sound of falling rain.)
Ah…
Yes — paradise after pain.
What relief…
I feel… drowsy…
.
.
.
*Huh?*
Where… where am I?
Though I have no eyes to see, I *feel* everything around me.
The air… the earth… the nature surrounding me.
Yes — I can feel the environment.
I can move my leaves… even my roots.
Hmm… There are other roots near mine. I'm sure of it.
I've been pulled from the soil.
Someone has taken me… and placed me with other flowers.
The air is clean.
The temperature is perfect.
Yes — I'm certain…
The one who took me knows flowers well.
And I'm not alone.
There are… perhaps a hundred flowers around me. Maybe more.