Briar

It was a cozy Wednesday evening when Briar came. I was in my cousin’s mansion with a few friends. I could never recall who had invited her, though her mystifying grin lingered in my memory. It wasn’t a shy or particularly friendly smile, but rather alluring, as though she was challenging us to find our way inside her mind. It was a pleasant October night, and the air was infused with the essence of chocolate and pumpkin spice. Briar had eagerly chatted with us, as if this was the last night of her life, and her last wish was to make it count. Days later, the sheer irony had finally dawned on me. Her face was pale, a striking contrast to her pitch-black hair, with a white briar rose weaved into it. Her hands were always clasped around her mug of hot cocoa, yet she never took a sip. She was truly peculiar, yet so merry we let it slip from our minds, and enjoyed the evening. Soon, we were all headed upstairs, our tired souls quickly getting lost in deep slumber. However, something had been bothering me that night, but I couldn’t put a finger on it. I woke around early dawn to see a supernatural fog enveloping the room. The silvery mist enwrapped Briar, growing thicker and thicker until I couldn’t see my own hand through the haze. Then I spotted a ghostly form of Briar floating above me. She gave me an enigmatic smile and faded away. In the morning, every trace of her was gone. I put my mind at ease with the thought that it had all been a dream. Later though, when I ran to grab my crimson cardigan from the velvet plush couch, I sharply gasped as I saw it, out of the corner of my eye. Lying on the mantelpiece, was a flawless white briar rose.