Roseluck loves flowers. As do her friends, of course. The fragility and beauty of such things, though, can mean so much more than by mere appearances. What does a rose have to do with life itself? What difference does it make, if some flowers are lovely, and the others drab?
A short, non-specific story that was originally written for One-Shotober.
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I love your beautiful description of life, I bow to your work on this one.
Very gentle and sweet.
Pretty good. I totally agree with these thoughts on life.
First off: the symbolism in this fiction is amazing. It's a natural thing for humans (well, in this case, ponies) to relate their lives and whole minds to what they love most. For instance, Roseluck relates life and death to her flowers in this fiction. Not by their specific hues or species, but by their behaviors. The petals falling to the ground: death. Flowers blooming fresh and anew: life.
Second: the language is perfect.
My favorite line:
Love this line because Roseluck is relating to the flower to the point of accepting its flaws and perfections. No matter what quality it bears, she'll remember them. Each and every single one, both in mind and frame alike.
I loved this fic. =]
9/10, would and will read again.