Rising from the fountain, Elan walked over to one of the rose bushes. His white robed billowed in the light breeze. Blue eyes darted across the crimson blooms.

The bloom lifted easily into his hand. Slowly, with the rose's stem in hand, he walked back over and stood in front of Shelley.

The rose outstretched in his hand, a calm, almost innocent look on his face. A small drop of blood hung on the clean-cut end of the flower like a crimson dew.

(The greatest gift is oneself)