The golden-brown teak colour of the dresser never seemed to get dull. It stood in a deliberate place in the centre of the room. The tall oval mirror had a rose vine carved around its border with utmost care. The artist who had crafted it, had done so in exact imitation of the single blood red rose vine that grew in the garden outside the mansion one spring. The silver mirror was always spotless, reflecting the embossed wallpaper on the opposite wall. On the dresser there were several items placed neatly, but the most prominent was the dark brown coffer box.
Every day she would sit in front of the dresser and peer at the mirror, as if searching for something. While all the other things on the table remained untouched, she would run her fingers along the coffer box, feeling the pattern pressed onto it, the gold filling in between those curves and the latch fashioned in front. She never opened the box. It seemed like she would come there to sit a while with the coffer box and then disappear until the next day. Each day her grey eyes pierced deeper into the mirror, and her pale and slender fingers trembled as she held the box in her hands.
Seasons were flying by. The gusty autumn winds wailed against the windows and the glass shuddered. The floor boards creaked and bare trees outside had shed all their leaves, creating a yellow-orange bed that would soon be covered in frost. The weather outside didn’t seem to affect the every day events that happened in this room. She came, she looked, she held the box, she walked away. The white outside covered the ground, fogged the window and the cold draft from the invisible cracks of the old mansion created a wispy mist all around. But the mirror remained silver and clear. She came, she looked, she held the box, she walked away.
Eventually, the white blanket outside began to melt and the sun began to get toastier. The dresser stood as it always had. But the tall oval mirror was not silver anymore. A pale skinned woman with piercing grey eyes looked right outside from what was once a shiny mirror. The carving on the border looked as if it had more roses than before, the coffer box was open and in it were crushed petals of what must have been blood red roses.
Spring had arrived in the garden, bringing with it flowers of all colours. But the rose vine stood out with its blood red colour, sweet fragrance and vines that curved around a rectangular stone, half sunk in the damp ground. The carving on the stone said,
Long after we are gone, love remains imprinted in our memories
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