OUaT: Roses

Mr. Gold detested roses. The very scent in the wafts of a passing woman's perfume was enough to make him clutch his cane and imagine striking the offensive she-beast with it. He sensed the mayor knew this for whenever she didn't wear her almost equally vile apple blossom mist she reeked of roses with that sinner's smile.

The color of a rose did not offend him that much unless they were red. The red bleed their warnings of memories not needed or wanted and he made swift to avert his eyes before he risked becoming the man who attacked pretty weeds at random.

February was the worse time of year for them to spring up around every corner, both in actual presence, image or scent. He tended to spend those days in his shop until the man he detested above all others defaulted on his loan and forced Mr. Gold to take the contemptible man's van.

A van filled with roses.

It was fortunate Mr. Gold had a stooge along to drive the truck away and he could avoid the presence of roses. That is until the Queen made herself known, wafting in her own stench of roses. He impolitely with polite words rid himself of her and her stomach turning odor to again breathe fresh air further down the street.

The later hours of the day gave Mr. Gold courage enough to take stock of the van, it's contains and the most beautiful, deep red rose. It pricked his thumb as he made his way into his house but ignored it.

"An old woman was selling roses and I got one for you Belle," Gold lied to no one. He swallowed his confession, "It made me think of you."

He moved to set the rose next to his chipped porcelain treasure only to find it gone, the rose cutting deeply into the palm of his clenched fist.