Page 19 of Roses for the Damned

“Whoa!” Pierre exclaimed, spinning in a circle, excited about their new discovery.

“Don’t touch anything,” his friend warned, eyes blown wide, “it might be poisoned.”

“Pfft, you’ve read too many books Antoine. Can’t you see?” He shook his shoulders. “We’re in a tomb!”

Antoine grimaced, his curious gaze sweeping over the space. “I wonder who’s buried here.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Then a glint of iron caught their eye.

“Here, Antoine! Come, quick!”

Crouching down once more, a plaque of sorts stared back at them, its surface mostly covered by dirt where the ground above it must have collapsed over it. Hurriedly, they cleared it away, revealing the words underneath.

“What does it say, Antoine?”

Squinting, the dark haired boy struggled to make out the words. “I’m not sure, it’s written in old French. I think it’s some kind of a poem,” he said. “Quite strange, actually. I don’t really understand it.”

“Well, go on, read it.”

“Alright,” and so, he began:

The chimes of bells strike twelve, once more

my heart has turned to stone.

I wait and weep, upon the floor,

my life is now in vain. Alone,

at last I lay me down,

my flower waits for me.

I refuse to live, don’t frown

at me, for I go to the one I love.