A single white rose petal fell to the Earth, flowing gently with the cool breeze of the morning air. As it floats down softly and lands upon the fields of long flowing grass below, the morning dew seeps into its skin. The white petal knew nothing of itself nor its surroundings but knew only one thing. If it were to wither away and die here, it could no longer feel the fresh morning air lay upon it. The warmth of the sun would no longer shine, the comfort of the flowing grassy field would disappear, and the sky itself would turn black with rage from the loss of all that is good.

The white rose petal looked up towards where it believed the sky to be, unsure of what was to come next as it laid gently upon the grass. The wind had begun to die down now, causing the once flowing fields to stiffen with anticipation as if waiting for the white rose to wither. Each blade of grass stared in suspense as the petal stood its ground, never moving an inch as the passage of time took its hold. With the future uncertain, the petal tried to recall the past. It was this moment that changed the course of history forever, a single white rose petal upon the ground refusing to die.

The air grew warmer by the second as the petal fought hard to grow its roots, trying to overcome this cruel death and become a beautiful and elegant flower. With the prospect of never being able to fully bloom, the petal reached deep within itself for anything worth holding on to. It knew that if it could grow roots here that one day it would grow into the most wonderful flower to bless the Earth, but with no future in sight, the realization came much too quick. There would be no future for it nor the world itself if it couldn't survive here, so drastic measures must be taken.

A breeze picked up once more, but this time emanating from the petal upon the ground. The burning desire for survival sprung forth from within its withering soul, reaching out into the air as if to hold on to any part of reality it could. The white rose petal searched deep within itself to find any escape from the approaching void, and finally came across the one thing that could save its life. To survive it must either change itself or its environment, and doing either would be no simple task, but nevertheless, it would be done.

Black fire engulfed the white petal entirely, burning away all that lay within its reach. Each blade of grass screamed internally as they tried to run from its flames, but their roots were too well embedded in the ground. As the fire began to spread, the white rose petal now found itself amongst the burning corpses of each blade of grass. It knew that what it had done was a self-centered attempt to survive, yet it damned the consequences of its own actions. Once the black flames engulfed every blade of grass on the horizon, the white rose petal finally felt the fruits of its labor pay off.

The petal twisted and contorted in agony as black veins began to snake their way through its skin, crawling within like worms through soil. The veins pulsed and wiggled violently, destroying any identity the white petal once held as they sapped it of all strength. The thoughts of the petal were no longer coherent but had become a tangled mess of both beauty and pain as it felt the waves of black fire slowly come to a halt. Each blade of grass had been burnt to ash, now flowing softly upon the breeze just as the petal had once before. It felt nothing at the destruction it had caused in its wake, overjoyed at the thought of defeating an eternal death.

As the black veins settled and dissipated within its skin, the petal felt a sudden wave of peace wash over it. Reaching deep into the soil below, the veins of the petal snaked downward into the earth for the very first time. As they grew with astounding speed, the petal noticed yet another change within itself. The time for mortality had long passed, and the petal became excited for the future ahead as the black veins turned brown and earthy, becoming the very connection to the world that the petal had always wanted.

Slowly rising from the ground in victory, the white petal felt a stem beginning to grow beneath itself. As it rose from the ground more petals had begun to bloom next to it, accompanying the once lone petal. As the flower began to softly emerge, the air around it grew cold once more as if the warmth of the petal had all vanished. Everything it had once held within had been released into the air, sending shockwaves of its will to live around the world several times over.

The pure white rose stood powerfully above the destruction it had caused, looking down at the ashes of the grass which once surrounded it. The souls of each blade of grass had been reduced to nothingness, but they were a worthy sacrifice for the survival of the rose. It had never once felt the power it felt now, as if it were the only thing now standing between life and death.

As the flower stood proudly, admiring the work it had done, it felt soft drops of rain beginning to fall to the earth. Raindrops dripped from the petals of the flower, softly running across its skin like heavy tears. The flower wasn't sure where the rain was coming from and looked up towards the sky for a hint of what could be happening.

Several large gray clouds had begun to form directly overhead, as if the world had sensed the presence of a living creature no longer supposed to exist. Reality itself looked down upon the rose with hatred, trying everything in its power to wash away the sins the rose had committed. To escape death entirely was to mock life itself, and the world could not stand for such insubordination from its own creations.

As the rain began to pick up speed, the flower noticed a tall blurry figure approaching from afar. The rain concealed its features, but the white rose sensed the overwhelming presence of the mysterious creature. As it approached the flower, it looked down silently as if observing something it could not understand.

"I don't believe we are the first... do you?" It said, its deep voice ringing throughout the flower's soul.

The white rose had never heard anything before and was confused as to why this large creature was able to communicate with it. Its voice sounded tired and glum, as if the strange creature was unhappy.

"I suppose we better get started." The creature said, snapping its fingers loudly.

As soon as the figure had snapped, the rain and clouds above had all been blown away along with the wet ashes lying upon the ground from the grass. What surrounded the flower now was nothing but dark brown soil, as well as the tall creature standing before it. Now that the rain had cleared, the flower could sense the features of the creature much better.

A four eyed crow-like humanoid creature stood tall as if imitating a man, its white feathers flowing softly with the wind it had created from the snap of its fingers. Sprouting from the head of the white crow were two small twisting decayed branches, reaching up towards the sky as if desperately trying to escape the clutches of the creature's body. Its torso and limbs were as pitch black as the night, as if the void itself had taken on human form. Its muscular body was draped in nothing but a long white piece of fabric tied around its waist, flowing softly in the wind. The talon-like bare feet of the creature stood heavily upon the soil, as if it were one with the very earth below.

The large beady red eyes of the crow creature looked down towards the flower with curiosity, wondering to itself how such a small and feeble soul had managed what had taken itself eons to perfect. To become more than what you once were took both immense passion and animosity, becoming a perfect vessel for the paradox of life to reside within for all eternity.

As the crow bent down to one knee, it slowly unfurled a pair of large white wings from its back. They were as white as the rose petals themselves and shone brighter than the sun. They were the most magnificent things the white rose had ever seen, and deep down it was beginning to grow jealous of the divinity this creature carried.

"Let's begin." The crow said, reaching out towards the rose planted firmly in the ground.

At first the white rose was confused as to what was happening, but once it realized the fate in store for it, death seemed like a much kinder option. The crow had wrapped both hands around the stem of the rose but had no intentions of uprooting it. What came next was a searing hot pain shooting throughout the stem and roots of the rose, sending immense waves of torment throughout its body.

As the white rose sang its internal song of agony, several of the white petals sprouting from its stem had begun to fade into the same dark void as the body of the crow. The once pure white petals of the rose had been tainted by the darkness of the abyss, never again able to see the light within itself.

The crow unwrapped its hands from the stem of the rose, and noticed it had begun to bleed from the rose's thorns. It recognized this as the first time its blood had been spilled as it watched the dark red liquid drip into the soil beneath the flower. The crow knew its job here was done, and sat down next to the now half black and half white rose to admire it. To keep the balance of the world, love must know torment, joy must know sorrow, and beauty must know cruelty. The only way for the world to survive is to beat down all that is beautiful, in hopes that one day that beauty will become stronger.