The beach rose along the shore jealously clings to its dried and frozen fruits. The Lord of Winter strips away all pretenses, however, and the true nature of the rose can be seen in all its terror. He does not allow any hiding. The cold truth must always be revealed. There is no lying to the Master of final form, and there is no safe haven from his Sword of Ice.
|The Lady of Thorns, starkly.|
Hundreds of razor-sharp thorns jut out of the stems of the rose bush from the very bottom all the way to the top. In summer they are hidden with a shimmering green gown that pleases the senses and belies the treachery. But now we see the true rose. Her beautiful green gown is gone. Her intoxicating and drugging perfume has vanished. Here now is a lady of cold steel who will starve a tiny animal with her thorns rather than give up her wretched fruits.
But it’s all she has, you say. Perhaps not even that. Grace does not require a gown of shimmering green or a scented potion, yet the lady seems abysmally lacking in that quality. Let her have her thorns, then, and her dead fruits. When the ice comes--and it always comes--she will regret her lack of virtue, but by then it will be too late.
And when spring returns, all the greenery in the world will not hide her frozen heart.