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.