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There once was a little prince, who lived on a small planet in space, no bigger than a house. One day, on this little asteroid, a rose grew under the attentive care of the little prince. He loved the rose dearly, though she was a spoiled little thing. She cast her beautiful perfume over the prince's home, but she also spoke quite cruely to him, being covered in thorns and not having any idea of how else to speak. In the end the prince tired of her words and left the planet, not knowing to look past her thorns and just appreciate the beautiful fragrance she gifted him with.
It was only when he was about to leave that the rose admitted how much she loved him, but she still urged him to leave. After all, she still had her thorns, which she believed were enough to protect her from even the fiercest wild animals. She did not want him to see her crying, for she was a very proud little flower.
On his travels, the prince met a geographer, who asked him to describe his planet. When the prince began to describe his dear rose, the geographer stopped him- flowers aren't recorded on maps, they are ephemeral. They vanish too quickly.
"My flower is ephemeral," the little prince said to himself, "and she has only four thorns to defend herself against the world. And I have left her on my planet, all alone!"
That was when the little prince first experienced regret.
Flowers have such a short life span, really. I know my story might not quite fit the most recent events, but I was in the mood for story telling. And whatever the roses may have done, it was not their fault. I see no harm in appreciating their sacrifice. And perhaps there are those who will now appreciate and care for life, regardless of the consequences.
[Very nice, France, but did you really need to spend so much time on saying just that...]
That said, your majesty, next time a simple boquet will do. Or at least a warning.
[ooc; I'm sure many of you know the story France is talking about already, but for those of you that don't: she's referencing the book Le Petit Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, which was written in the 1940s. I apologise for her rather pointless tl;dr...]
It was only when he was about to leave that the rose admitted how much she loved him, but she still urged him to leave. After all, she still had her thorns, which she believed were enough to protect her from even the fiercest wild animals. She did not want him to see her crying, for she was a very proud little flower.
On his travels, the prince met a geographer, who asked him to describe his planet. When the prince began to describe his dear rose, the geographer stopped him- flowers aren't recorded on maps, they are ephemeral. They vanish too quickly.
"My flower is ephemeral," the little prince said to himself, "and she has only four thorns to defend herself against the world. And I have left her on my planet, all alone!"
That was when the little prince first experienced regret.
Flowers have such a short life span, really. I know my story might not quite fit the most recent events, but I was in the mood for story telling. And whatever the roses may have done, it was not their fault. I see no harm in appreciating their sacrifice. And perhaps there are those who will now appreciate and care for life, regardless of the consequences.
[Very nice, France, but did you really need to spend so much time on saying just that...]
That said, your majesty, next time a simple boquet will do. Or at least a warning.
[ooc; I'm sure many of you know the story France is talking about already, but for those of you that don't: she's referencing the book Le Petit Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, which was written in the 1940s. I apologise for her rather pointless tl;dr...]