Marilyn's hand sat under the flower. She knelt on a rock, waves lapping over her stained purple dress. Her feet were numb against the chilling winds from the far sea. Colour trickled down the rock and drained into the water. The moon reflected onto the waves. The pink, illuminated colour darkened, almost as if it were dying. Marilyn took sharp breaths, her eyes fluttering in the icy air. "No." She whispered. This flower is special, She thought. It cannot go. It had been her mother's and when she died, she told Marilyn to take care of it. Her mother had studied White Witchcraft, craft of the good. She bought the flowers to life, treating them like a real animal. Marilyn's blond hair seemed purple from the release of light of the flower. Skies turned stormy, and tears began to roll down her cheeks. "Please, don't go." She begged, but then her decision changed. "No, you can be free. Mother is free, though her soul is here. Her love is here," Marilyn tapped her heart. "In my heart. Her love is in my heart. Be free." A tear fell from her face and landed in the centre of the flower. Marilyn leapt back and steadied herself in the shallow waters, the blaze of varying tones and shades expanding. An overpowering smell of roses and similar flowers stole the air from Marilyn. Suddenly, the flower disappeared. All that was left in it's place was a patch of florescent liquid.
"Freedom." Marilyn breathed as she turned away and headed for shore. When she looked back, she could see her Mother’s ghost, floating silently where the flower had been lay to rest. She noticed Marilyn watching her. “Your love is in my heart, Marilyn.” Her voice was carried over by the wind of the waves. Marilyn smiled.
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