Garden Of Black Roses

In the quieter corners of City M, Sullivan stood before his prized Garden of Black Roses, the soft glow of lanterns casting an ethereal light on the dark blooms.

Draped in an opulent golden robe, its intricate embroidery glinting in the dim light, he carefully pruned the roses, each snip methodical and deliberate, his movements precise and calculated.

His expression was one of intense focus, a reflection of his obsession with controlling every aspect of his life, his eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed in concentration.

As he worked, a sudden change in the garden caught his eye: one of the roses on the left side had begun to turn a vivid, alarming red, its color stark against the sea of dark blooms, like a warning signal flashing in the night.

Sullivan's brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes narrowing as he approached the altered rose with a cautious step, his golden robe rustling softly with each movement.

He noticed an almost imperceptible heat radiating from it, though no flames wer