I would like to tell you a tale, if I may be allowed to do so.
A tale of the Rosencroix Kingdom, and the time directly after Nicolae's fall. For you see, before Nicolae's brother took the throne, he set out on a quest to restore his cursed brother back to health and vitality. It was to be a long journey. A voyage that would take no less than a seven years to complete. Yet for the chance to lift the land's curse as well as his brother's sentence, Bloodthorne ventured forth.
Before this however, arrangements had to be made. For the kingdom was left in a state of uproar after the news of the tyrant Nicolae's abrupt demise. They would not allow another cruel leader to continue the reign of terror that had so viciously been wrought upon them. To bring a semblance of peace and order to the land, Bloodthorne turned to the Captain of Rosencroix's Royal Guards. A man by the name of Mordecai Sangorne.
Sangorne had always been a keen man, and very cunning. He had lead troops under Nicolae's orders to wage war against lands and realms far and wide. His records were numerous, near as much as the piles of corpses left in his bloody wake. Surely he would be the one to keep the people under control.
His will done and Sangorne with the throne, Bloodthorne journeyed forth on his quest.
What followed in the Kingdom of Rosencroix however, was a fate stricken from near all the records of the land. All records, save for this.
Mordecai swiftly returned the land to order through sheer power. He sentenced all rebellion with public displays of inhuman slaughter and cruelty second only to Nicolae himself. Yet where Nicolae prevailed in cruelty, Mordecai more than made up for in perversion. Torture and acts unmentionable were his forte, and soon word of his deeds spread to regions far beyond the veil of darkness.
It was about this time that the first incarnation of the Rose made her appearance. For with Nicolae's death and the curse of the spirit of the Rose; each petal scattered to regions beyond to bind with the souls of future embodiments.
The first was a frail woman, youthful but of poor status. She had traveled far into the village to seek aid in her failing health. Mordecai and his men new well of the former spirit, and the unusual countenance of white hair and red eyes that made up the striking appearance. Needless to say, to see another was quite a shock to them all. The woman was bound and brought swiftly to the castle where she was interrogated forthwith.
She knew nothing of roses nor of the kingdom, yet from the scent of her blood alone, it was known that she possessed inside the same power as her predecessor. Now, I spoke once of Mordecai and his unusual methods, yet with the waves of bloodshed recently committed, he had begun as Nicolae to seek other means to further his position and power.
Power, and here it was before him. The very blood that could empower and curse. Yet to do so in the same means as Nicolae would be foolish. He knew that to drink from this fount would be to take a poison fatal to even the great rulers of the past. For the great Lord Nicolae was of pure birth and upbringing. A vampire of noble blood. As for him, his blood was common and his power greatly limited. Nicolae had been turned to stone from this blood, and he knew well that a far worse fate would befall him if he attempted replicate the actions. No, if he was to attain this power, another means would need to be employed.
Mordecai ordered his men away, for he had a plan formulating within the darkest regions of his diseased mind. He took the petal, the Rose against her will. Forcing her into an act of immortal carnality.
The deed done, she was confined for the term of nine long months, when the results of this vile act would be born to fruition.
And so it was, and an offspring was born. A fusion of vampire and immortal flower. However, frail as the petal was, she did not survive the birthing.
The daughter of sin grew in her father's footsteps, not knowing of her mother or the truth of her ill-begotten nature. Though Mordecai was careful. He raised the child as a normal girl, forbidding any roses in her chambers, nor any blood within the child's sight.
Seasons past, and the infant grew, passing into childhood and the form of a young girl. By this time, the land was well established under the ruler Mordecai. He found that it was time to introduce her, for till this point the child had been raised in secrecy. He threw a grand ball in her honor, attended by the most elite of the vampire clans. The rooms were stunning, and the girl lavishly fawned upon.
Yet there is a price to pay for such a sin against the gods. The girl was a vampire, sure enough, yet she was of the Rose.
A rose of pain.
In the middle of the festivities, this realization blossomed. A careless guest brushed against her, causing a small scrape from a brooch on his coat. The girl looked down at her shoulder, seeing a strange yet lovely color welling up from the small flesh wound. "What a lovely sight! What a beautiful color. To think, I had such a radiant shade inside me all this time. I wonder...I wonder..."
The girl silently moved to the dance floor in the darkened castle. She smiled coquettishly to her father, confused by the many surrounding her. They were similar to her, yes, but she could sense that in the same way, she was not one of them. She skipped joyously up to her father, smiling up and offering her hand to dance with him.
Mordecai grinned down and took hold, yet within the same moment, his grin vanished. In the small child's hand was a knife. She had taken care to coat the blade with her own blood, a deep gash running over her hand. From this blood, red roses began to bloom. Roses, as well as wicked thorns of a ruddy hue. She grinned up at her father, smiling with the eyes of a demon.
"Look, daddy. Look at the pretty color I made. Do you like it? Do you like the color daddy? Look, I'll make more of it! More of it for you, daddy."
Without another word, she dashed off. The quickness of youth and the obscuring rose petals made her form a blur as she wove in and out of the guests. She giggled in delight as one by one they fell to the floor. Piles upon piles of bodies stacking up as the screams echoed with the music of the night. And through the screams and giggling, the trilling voice of the daughter.
"See, daddy? See the colors I can make? But daddy, you don't wear such a pretty color as they do. I can fix it, daddy. I can fix it!"
The blood of the victims mingled with the still flowing crimson of the little girl's hand, the power of the rose using this outlet as crimson thorns and vines began to climb up the castle pillars and drip down upon the floor below. All was a sea of blood, and Mordecai was in the center of it all. All his men were dead, all the guests victims of the Rose of Pain. She could not be stopped, for she loved the color too much. Her heart lost to the joy of the screams and the slaughter. The spilling of lifeblood. The red that had dyed the petals of the first rose, and now did the same for her as she walked toward her father.
The knife was gone, but that didn't matter. She had nails, she had teeth. She was her father's daughter as much as her mothers. Vampire yet not.
The girl ran to her father, embracing him in a large hug. "See, daddy? They all had the color in them, and so do you, daddy! So do you!" The child's blood held the spirit's power, paralyzing him as she dug into his chest. The blood spurted up as she dug into him. Her strength as a vampire causing the flesh and bone to yield readily as she tore away at the organs and snapped the ribs with a sickening crack. Ah, yes! Here is was! The thing that moved all this lovely color around inside of her father. A strange organ that would not beat, yet she knew it was what moved the blood. After all, hers would beat on occasion, why shouldn't his do the same.
The unnatural petal pulled this free, smiling up at her father as she did so.
"Look, daddy, look! I found it! Aren't you proud of me? Daddy? Daddy, why won't you look at me? Why won't you speak to me?"
She glanced up at her father, yet his fate had been wrought.
The castle became a violent sea of blood. The blood covered the flower, dying it a deep red. All was silent, all was done. The castle was blood and death and gore, and not but a little girl sat in the midst of it all. Driven mad for the color of blood.
Thus was the fate of the defiler of the first petal. The brief reign of Mordecai and his death at the hands of his daughter: The Rose of Pain.
I would like to tell you a tale, if I may be allowed to do so.