Novel (270 pages)
...The flowers suffer under the chisel,
And close as well as closed eyelids;
All women are stained with the blood of roses;
The virgin at the ball, dancing, angel in fresh colours,
And who carries in her hand a tuft of flowers,
Breathe and smile as you breathe a bouquet of agony...
What if Victor Hugo is right ? What if all women carried within them the scent of roses, its passion red hue, blood red, the reflection of its painful beauty ? And if all women were roses, would men be the scissors ? How long will it take them to lose their seven petals, before they break between their two blades ?