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You met Rose on a Thursday. It was slightly foggy out and there was a thick layer of snow over the sidewalks, but she was dressed in a sundress and heels, catching your attention with at least the impracticality. Privately, you'd admit that your eyes were more caught by her legs and put together demeanor, but that was neither here nor there.
She was standing next to someone you had, at the time, assumed to be her boyfriend. You had noted, with some amount of incredulity, that he was wearing a coat that seemed far too thin for the weather as well.
You first saw them by a christmas blow up, her friend laughing hard at some in-joke while she looked to be suppressing her own laughter. You were walking with your older sister, and you had caught eyes with Rose. She shot you a smile and wave of your own, and you had felt a bit giddy over it. Not in a way with any meaning, but hey, who wouldn't be pleased to have a cute girl smile at them, right?
You had winked and fluttered fingers back at her, earning a look from your sister that you replied to with a shrug. You kept walking, snowy boots leaving footprints where you stepped. And that was that. You all but forgot about the interaction by the next day, in all honesty.
The next time you met, though, was just as brief. You ran into her on the subway, the moon high in the sky and the weather just as frigid. Rose was wearing a coat, this time, with a short skirt and small, heeled boots. And, by ran into her, you do mean literally. You had stumbled into one another as the doors slid open, shocking an rushed apology from both your lips.
You were surprised to see her again, but gave a hurried smile and were on your seperate ways quickly. If you had been in a hurry, you probably would've stuck around to introduce yourself, but that's how the cookie crumbles, you supposed.
The first time you properly met her, though, was in a bar, one you had been to before. You had spotted her as she came over to slide in the seat next to you.
"Fancy seeing you here, stranger," Was the first thing Rose said to you. You laughed, waved a hand at her flippantly, and twirled your drink around in the other.
"A shocking occasion for sure," You responded with what you had hoped was a flirtatious grin. "Can I get your name, if we're going to be running into each other *sooo* often?"
"You can call me Rose," She said, smile all teeth and unsmudged dark violet lipstick. "Might I get yours in return, then?"
"I'm Roxy," You introduced. And, well, the two of you hit it off. In all honesty, you don't remember how it went, exactly, but by the time you stumbled out of the bar you had a string of violet numbers scrawled out on your wrist in glitter pen and an utterly plastered grin on your face.
Rose had ordered you a cab and waved off your concerns on how she was getting home, saying she had a friend to come pick her up. You accepted that with a nod and crash into the nearby wall. Not your most graceful moment, you'd admit, but Rose had pulled you back to your feet with a look of concern that made your pulse flutter.
"Are you sure you'll be alright heading home?" She asked. You had laughed, shaking your head at nothing.
"Rosey- Is it 'kay if i call you that?- I'll be fineeeee!" You assured her. "I've done this a bizzgilllionzillion times- don' worry abou' it!"
Rose stared at you for a moment. She sighed, shook her head, and smiled at you. It was a bit too much for your drunk brain to process, and you stumbled again, staring dumbly and barely processing her resonse of hesitant acceptance. That was how you parted ways, ushered with worry and half-sincere infatuation.
You texted her the next day, curled up in your apartment at noon, your head pounding a fucking hurricane against your skull. Still, the conversation left you giggling, a fluttering in your stomach. Which you then expelled, as it was less romance and more nausea. It wasn't picture perfect by any definition, but you think back on that morning pretty fondly.
And just like that, Rose sort of slid into your life with the collected air she seemed to do everything. She got on with your friends decently, and you hers. It had surprised you, despite how, in retrospect, it seemed pretty obvious, to find she only had a few close friends.
That's how you properly met John, actually. He was the guy you had originally mistaken as Rose's boyfriend, and actually a close childhood friend of hers. He had a fun sense of humor and seemed somewhat at odds with the way Rose outwardly presented herself, but they seemed to sort of click.
As for Rose, as you got to know her, you found her own mix of snarky and silly was horribly endearing. You still remember the way she used to toss her head back when laughter got the best of her fondly. You still see it now, of course, but... You move on. Rose was... so, completely, utterly charming. She tended to come off aloof at first, but you'd found she was just harder to read without knowing her.
You went on your first proper date in early December. The two of you had spent the afternoon ice skating, toppling into the ice every few seconds. The clearest thing you remember of the date was when, after having a snowball fight of most epic proportions, you convinced her to head over to a nearby cafe to huddle for warmth. Wink wonk.
Rose asked to kiss you at your doorstep, shooting a stilted joke about moving to fast. She had looked so awkward, cheeks flushed with the cold and nervousness, that you had complied and planted a kiss on her cheek with a grin. She had shot you a winding smile of her own, and then bid you adieu.
Your relationship felt like a bit like a tidal wave, with how everything but Rose seemed to crash down around you in her wake. It was about a month into your relationship with her when your sister died, and in your mourning you ignored almost every of your friends reaching out to you.
Most, but for Rose. She was a dependable shoulder, and though you had only met her recently, you felt like she was all you were clinging to. Sometimes you felt Rose put herself in that position, but you never pondered that for too long, too caught up in the ocean of her arms.
Rose was always the one to pull you from your head. She would hold your hair back and help you to bed when you got blackout drunk, would tell you how it was natural to be so distressed, to never shame yourself for it. She took care of you so, so, steadily.
You think that was around when you realized you loved Rose the first time. You were curled up in your bed, head blurry and mouth bitter, and Rose had come in, having driven you home that previous night. She had sat next to you, talking soft, reassuring words. You had let her lull you into a soft and sweet sort of comfort, having her read books to you till later than noon.
Rose had stayed over the whole day, by your side, trying to keep you from your sadness. She was always one to encourage you expressing your emotions, but for now she was just focused on helping you feel better, and you appreciated it so much.
One of the last things you thought before drifting off to sleep that night was that you thought, just maybe, that you might love her.
When she asked you to go on a trip with her, across the country to visit a friend of hers, you probably should have said no. You had agreed anyways, packing up travel supplies in your little hot pink and glitter suitcase you bought for the occasion. Rose said you should get out more, try to figure out your place in the world, and you had thought it good advice.
You fell asleep on the plane at some point. The security had exhausted you, and you weren't the biggest fan of flying, so you took a nap against Rose's shoulder about halfway through your flight. You passed out to the sight of her painted lips quirking into a smile you hadn't seen on her before.
When you woke, you were laid down on a bed. It was silky soft, plush as anything, and there were curtains of pale pinks and purples draped from the posts. You had sat up, realized even your clothes were different, and thought, you now see unfortunately, that this was a dream.
You were dressed in a white, near-sheer nightdress. It was pretty, you'd admit, but at the time you were more confused where, exactly, you were. As you had moved off the bed, you heard a voice speak up.
"Oh, you're awake." Rose parted the curtains as she spoke, revealing herself in a way that made the light fabrics swish around her like an embrace. Light danced over her cheekbones, and this was the first time you had ever seen her dressed in her crown.
Spiked icicles, ringing around the top of her head in a sort of halo, and a near-sheer pale dress of her own. You had stammered at the sight of her, and she had smiled oh so sweetly. Then she explained things to you- you can't repeat them in too much detail, but she told you of why she had found you, about what she was.
You probably would have freaked out more if not for the faint fogginess in your head. You know, now, that it was Rose's nails pulling coherence from your head like loose string. You would have been bothered by that, then.
Instead, you pulled yourself up from your bed, you put on your bravest face, and you asked her questions. She answered some of them, but not all. You asked when you could go home. Rose shrugged carelessly, then invited you to see the rest of the castle.
"Castle?" You asked.
"Yes." And Rose showed you.
It was gorgeous, a building of immeasurable skill. Pillars of ice-like crystals, white walls of quartz, and drapped fabrics and furs wherever you looked. There were chalk drawings adorning the sills of stained glass windows, murals made of what looked like actual bone.
It was all purple-gold-white, you had noted. Rose had turned the slighest bit pink as she explained it was the colors of both her element and her alliances. You asked of her alliances- and her element too, as an afterthought.
Rose smiled more naturally, now. Her brother, she explained, was of springs folk, matching purple details in their realms. White, on the other hand, were of her own realm: winter. And the gold, you asked.
Rose seemed proud as she explained it was of her personal aspect: light. She only ever used it in accents, Rose explained, as it was also the color of the summer-autumns siblings. You asked, voice hesitant, what they were like.
Rose laughed, voice more like twinkling bells than ever before, and told you that you had already met Autumn in her friend John. You gaped for a moment.
"Wait, really??" You stammered in disbelief. "That guy??"
The two of you derailed many, many, many times as you wandered the halls, until the two of you reached a long, wide corridor that faced up to a massive, elegant, throne. It was made of pure ice, and you could feel the cold radiating off of it. To be completely honest, though, you had been all but freezing the whole time you had been out of the room, too nervous to bring it up to Rose.
She turned to you, then, at the foot of the throne, and beckoned you towards her as she draped herself over it. You followed, only a bit uncertain, and Rose pulled you into her lap without much ado. Your breath hitched, eyes trained to hers.
The two of you kissed, cold, ice-frosted lips against your own warmer. Your eyes fluttered shut with hardly a second.
When you opened them again, pulling away slowly, Rose was looking at you with suddenly icy violet eyes. She smiled at you, and you felt more fog flood your brain. She had wings in that moment, you had noted, long, violently yellow in curved rays that reminded you of pure sunlight, and of how children draw the suns rays in cheap crayon.
Rose's hand came up to cup your cheek, and you leaned into it. That's about when your consciousness left you for the second time that day.