Rose Petals

Her honey blonde tresses the shade of diluted caramel framed her delicate porcelain face, her glassy deep sapphire blue eyes now permanently shut. Many called it a shame that the light-locked girl with such innocence had been struck with such tragedy, pitying her family members for their terrible loss. She had been a great girl with a kind heart and pure intentions; one might even go so far as to say with a child-like naïveté that was much too endearing for her own good. Unfortunately, that hit much too close to home for anyone to understand.

A chestnut-haired sat cross-legged in front of the grave, counting the rose petals from the bouquet she’d been forced to place among the deceased girl before her. It was sunny, though there was enough shade in that particular area where the girl with a loving and gentle soul was buried. There was a wind, softly caressing the emerald-eyed brunette’s peach-toned skin. Her crimson nails dug lightly into the dark wash skinny jeans that adorned her curvaceous body. The deep green sleeveless shirt that festooned her body clung tightly to her skin, and she hoped that it wouldn’t get dirty.

Twenty-two, she thought to herself with almost a certain finality. The girl buried beneath the ground was none of her concern, only the beautiful roses that rested over her grave. One would think that she would actually care, but they’d be surprised to find that it was quite the opposite. Then again, if one knew them, they would know that this fact obviously wouldn’t be of much shock. It was sad how the world worked, especially in the town of Rustenburg, Indiana—a town only a few miles away from Clinton, Indiana. It was a fairly decent sized town, a place where the neighbors all knew one another and rumors spread like wildfire.

One would think that she would care about the death of her year-younger sister, but alas, this was not the case. Lilith Grayson—the brunette—couldn’t care less. If anything, she was overjoyed that Evangeline was out of her way. They literally were polar opposites. How funny that the name Lilith was associated with much religious scandal and such, while the name Evangeline was a name for an angel. Perhaps it was coincidence, but many people—Lilith included—didn’t believe in coincidences. Sure enough, they lived up to their names without a doubt.

People had always preferred Evangeline to Lilith; that much was plainly obvious. A monster as green as her eyes grew within the depths of her soul, wrapping around it like vine and squeezing too tightly to be fought. The monster of envy grew, spreading through her whole body like a virus, and a loathing so strong was what formed. She wasn’t jealous—she was envious. To her, jealousy was to want something that someone else had, to be envious was to want to take what someone else had from her, and Evangeline had the one thing that Lilith would crave no matter what; love.

For instance, Lilith’s parents preferred Evangeline over her, for a number of undeniable reasons. Yet they loved her unconditionally, though no one knew whether it was because they wanted to, or because they felt they had to. It didn’t matter, however, because the dark-haired girl might as well have been a demonic monster in human form while her sister was an angelic being forced into a human body that could never compare to her inner beauty. They were both beautiful, though in different ways.

Lilith had the beauty of a seductress, a certain alluring look that screamed danger whenever you were with her, though inside, she was one of the most hideous creatures one could ever stumble upon. She was ugly on the inside, a fact that one couldn’t deny no matter how hard they tried. Evangeline had an angelic, innocent beauty, with delicate doll-like features, but her outer beauty was no match for her inner one. On the inside, she was a pure light so blinding, it was impossible to ignore. Naturally, people flocked towards the angel, leaving the demon to prowl.

No, she didn’t miss her sister at all. Truthfully, she probably would’ve gotten rid of her sister one way or another regardless—if anything, she figured that the sooner it was, the better everything would be. Evangeline was gone now, and she wasn’t coming back. Lilith could remember that day quite clearly, but it was hard to forget the day that her sister and nemesis had died. How could she forget? It hadn’t been that long. Her parents, the neighbors, the townspeople—everyone around her mourned her death. Except for Lilith, who still couldn’t care less no matter how many months had passed.

Evangeline had decided that she still wanted to try to form a sisterly bond, so she invited her sister to lunch. Lilith, figuring that she had nothing to lose, had decided to spend the day with her. Perhaps she’d learn enough to find the alabaster girl’s weakness to try to take her down—she refused to let good conquer evil. She’d come to terms at this point that she would never be what her sister was, and instead of trying to change herself for the greater good, she’d rather push her sister off of her elegant little pedestal that she’d acquired.

The conversations they had were blurred in her mind, though she could recall a few things. “I hate you!” she had shrieked. As Lilith replayed this in her mind, she couldn’t even volunteer so much of a flinch at the detest that dripped in her words like venom. Her younger sister had merely shaken her head and said nothing, as if she was much wiser than her elder. Lilith was disgusted with her sister. In all honesty, throughout her whole lifetime, Lilith had always been disgusted by her sister.

They went home, and Lilith being the sly one she was, she had feigned an apology, crying out that she hadn’t meant to be so horrible to Evangeline. Now, the younger one was no fool, but she was too forgiving for her own good, which was yet another thing Lilith found revolting. She’d let the jade-eyed sibling brew her a nice, hot drink, thinking nothing of it, and nothing had been what it was. It had tasted a tad funny, but she’d shrugged it off. Lilith had a sneaking suspicion that she knew already, but she never had let onto it. Hours later, Evangeline had dozed off peacefully and never woke up.

This flashback ended in her mind, like an old black-and-white movie that had faded out at the credits, and as Lilith stared at the tombstone, she realized that no matter what, she had won. Perhaps she hadn’t truly won, but in the end, she was the last one still standing, the way it should’ve been. Her warped sense of reality had finally paid off in this sick and twisted ending. Lilith Jezebel Grayson had outmatched the beloved Evangeline Gabriella Grayson in this distorted sense of reality. Now people would be forced to love and cherish Lilith, to accept her fiendish ways, for it was the closest they’d get to her formerly ethereal sister, whom Lilith had loathed, detested, and had been disgusted by.

You’d think she’d care for a second that she this was her sister, her flesh and blood that she was speaking of as if they were a deadly competitor in this game of life. One would believe that perhaps she’d have even the most simple of remorseful feelings for these sins she has unlawfully committed, but envy could take someone over quite quickly, and quite well. Lilith felt absolutely nothing but pride and overwhelming joy that she’d extinguished her sister at that moment, and surely moments to come as well. She had killed off her opponent—she had won. The sad part?

She didn’t regret it.

Lilith leaned over, stretching her long arms to yank the small bouquet of roses. “They’re mine,” she hissed to herself with a demented sort of grin, plucking all twenty-two petals off of the flowers. “They’re mine,” she repeated, letting their silky smooth surface glide over the skin of her palms. A twisted smirk curled on the edge of her full, cherry red lips. With a manic chuckle, she pulled herself off of the ground, gave Evangeline’s grave one last look of repugnance, and stood up, her silvery black flats contrasting with the ground.

Tenderly, Lilith spread her palm out, the twenty-two petals in her hand and softly blew on it, watching the winds whisk them away. Her gaze landed on the grave one more time, the other flowers left over on the grave, the flowers that were hers. She smiled to herself; a serene smile that she, nor anyone else, ever thought would ever grace her features. Her honey-haired sister laid under the ground in peace while the girl with emeralds as irises stood above ground triumphantly, and now she knew that she could always come back here to mock her weaker sister, the one she detested so much. But even more than that, she knew that there was one thing here that would stay forever into her possession.

Rose petals.