““I glanced at Marcus’s grave, and my gaze wandered to the blood-red rose. It wasn’t blood-red, or beautiful anymore. Mud and murk had spoiled its fragile beauty and mutilated it into a miserable gray object, disfigured beyond recognition, tarnished, and misshapen, soon to be devoured by the murky ground that surrounded it. It was no longer a symbol of hope and innocence. It was an omen; a harbinger of death and destruction. And I was truly terrified of it.””