Her Hair as a Rose

She was like a goddess. Her clothing mirrored her body, her body mirroring her love and affection for the town she ruled over, those rules burning in a bright flame. A flame as bright as a red rose. Her hair wasn’t very vibrant, like pink. Nor was it very dull, like a pencil. It was the shade of a glorious red rose. Her bangs covered her eyes and her hair dropped to her waist. Her hair flowed with every soft, yet ruling movement she made. “Who is this ‘goddess’ you speak of?” you may ask. A goddess of dreams. She gives sweet and kind dreams to the people who respect her and her fake reality. But to those who don’t, she taunts them with a few minutes of sweet dreams before turning those sweet dreams into nightmares that make your flesh go cold and drench your forehead in freezing sweat. She may be a myth in some’s mind, but in mine, she’s just as real as you and me. She wears a long, white veil that runs to her ankles and trails behind her glorious figure. Her feet are bare but oh so soft and so clean. Her white gown also drops to her ankles. The corset of this dress hugs her body tightly, as if clinging on for its life. The skirt is loose and flowy like her red hair. It does not hug her body like the corset, but instead, it runs wild and free like the souls and dreams of the innocent and evil. Her eyes glow a calm teal. A teal that if you were to look into them, only if she was a myth to you, would scare you. But, if you believe in her sweet innocence, this goddess of the unconscious, her sweet, soft, teal eyes will appear to you as if you belong where you are and you have everything you deserve. To her children, though a small group, she tells them “You will be small at first, my children, but soon you will grow to be big and strong. Just like the warriors who conquer this world.” Her children would look up at her in awe. She was like a mother in their eyes even if none of them were related.