Rama stared at him, lips slightly parted in speechlessnes.
"I won't do anything without your permission." He said with a serious countenance. His crimson eyes swirling with unsaid sincerity.
"That's thoughtful of you." She whispered with a small breath as she averted her gaze to the roses.
Damien extended his hand toward the arrays of roses, he plucked the white rose with the delicacy of a swan landing softly on a lake.
"You're like this rose." He muttered loudly, gaze fixated on the rose.
Rama tilted her head to the side, if she was like any of the roses, it would either be the red or the black, definitely not comparable to the white.
"I doubt that." She said.
"Your soul is pure, but dangerous. If you're being handled carelessly, you'll prick them with your thorns." Damien said.
"Still, I'm rather comparative to the red or black rose, definitely not the white." Rama argued.
