She laid a solitary white rose amidst the wooden table’s empty chairs, petals like flags of past surrenders between those who perished. Beside bloomed a crimson rose, velvet folds dark as blood spilled. The two blooms rested, entwined, purity, and pain beside ghosts of those gone. With a final look, she shut the door on struggles beyond these walls, leaving behind only flowers to signify the war of the roses has ended.