The first thing she saw when she woke up was the rose; today it was pink like her and just beginning to open. Yesterday it had been yellow. She felt his red eyes watching her, waiting to see what she thought of his gift, like he did at the beginning of everyday. He was almost invisible in the pale light that filtered through the curtains, his black fur blending in with the shadows. He was a shadow in both name and nature, people were afraid of him because they didn't understand, couldn't understand what lay beneath the cold exterior and those piercing eyes. She understood him though and he understood her. They were made for each other and after chasing the wrong guy for years she had finally found what she'd really been looking for.
The rose had started in all; it was his way of saying thank you, his way to try and fix the heart of someone who'd helped him and believed in him when no-one else did, it was also the thing that reminded him of her every day. She was his rose and the rose on the table was hers. She picked it up, her quills hanging in front of her green eyes, and smiled. At that moment everything was right, this was the reason the sun came up and the reason he woke up in the morning, her happiness was everything. She was his rose, he was her thorn and he would never let anyone hurt her.