Douglas McClane sat on the edge of her bed, his legs crossed in a pose of utter relaxation. Flicking the blade in his fingers, he watched her as she balked at his command to don the purple dress from the trial. Instead, her gaze jumped between the clock by her bed and the doorway.

"I know what you're thinking. You believe your soldier will arrive, to rescue the princess from the evil clutches of the villain. I'm sorry to have to inform you. That isn't this story. I often told my students fairy tales are useless. They teach us nothing but lies and false hopes, though the original Grimm is a bit more realistic. Modern society has sweetened the stories and removed their bite... but I digress. "He stood and stalked toward her, taking her arm and lead her to the window. Pushing the curtain aside, he grabbed her chin and pointed her face toward the corner garden. "I never thought I would appreciate climbing ivy in my garden but he makes an elegant augmentation, don't you think?"

The corner was dark, thanks to his quick work with the flood lights but one could still make out the dark shadow hanging limply from the iron wall cap and to the left of the pergola. He could tell the moment she understood what she was viewing. Her eyes grew wide and her lips parted. "Maddox," she screamed and pushed against him. In a quick action, he brought the knife to her neck. Grabbing a fist full of her hair, he yanked her back from the window. As she stilled, he snarled, "Don't try it again. You keep quiet, obey me and I will stop my garden with you. Give me any more trouble, I'll be including a Magnolia, a Lily and a Daisy."

She stilled instantly and he let her go. Motioning toward the purple draped chair, he barked at her, "Dress," and resumed his post at the foot of her bed.

His eyes feasted on the nubile form of his prey as she tugged the garment over her head. It was almost a shame to cover the magnificent body he had stripped earlier but there were rules to every game. First, she must be dressed properly. There would be enough time for undressing later.

As her face emerged from the sweetheart collar, his breath hitched when he saw the dewy trails spilling across her pale cheeks. He watched in fascination as her pink lips trembled with each frantic breath. He closed his eyes with a moan. Her terror was better than the most succulent of meals. It fed his soul until he was almost giddy and drunk on it. Of all the fragile blossoms in his garden, his beautiful, delicate rose was the most exquisite of them all. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the way her breasts lifted as she pulled the back upward slightly to reach the zipper and tug it closed. He licked his lips in anticipation of feasting on those globes flavored with salty tears and the coppery tang of blood.

With the dress in place, he made a circle with his finger, indicating she should turn so he could take in every inch of the vision which had haunted him for years. With her revolution completed, he frowned and shook his head. "Your hair isn't proper. Put it up with the purple barrette, the one in your second drawer on the right side. "

She did as he bade her, piling her blonde tresses on top of her head and securing them with the clip. Once it was done, he beckoned her over. She shook her head and took a step back.

Snarling, he leaped to his feet. "Obey me, Little Rose or the reaping will be excruciatingly painful. Don't forget there are other blossoms at stake here." The whimper escaping her lips was music to his soul. Crooking his finger again, he said, "Come here."

Slowly she made her way over until she stood in front of him. Reaching over, he touched her cheek, causing her to flinch and shut her eyes tightly. He frowned again. "Perhaps I was wrong. In this attire you favor the shrinking violet instead of a rose," he whispered. He shook his head to clear such foolishness from his mind. "No, karma has spoken. You are the rose, the magnificent apex of my work." Taking her hand in his, he pulled her back to the bed and again sat. Pointing to the floor between his feet, he commanded her. "Sit."

Doing as he said, she dropped to her knees and closed her eyes. He watched as she took a breath and held it. So stunning but not quite correct. He nudged her knees to the side. "Be graceful, elegant. Lounge artfully." He watched her hungrily as she dropped to sit on her left hip, her feet curled beside her right side. "Yes, much better. Hands, folded in your lap. That's it. Perfection."

He sat back, his eyes taking in the lovely sight resting before him. With a nod, he cocked his head to the side. "I have touched the Morning Glory, felt the silken petals of the Dahlia. The fire of the Zinnia and the sweet soft blush of the Camellia were mine to sample. Even the exotic Lotus and the mighty Acacia have entertained my gaze but none have come close to the exquisite excellence of you, my beautiful Rose." He reached forward and caressed her cheek. She whimpered again and drew back. Anger flared in him. "This is your last warning. Draw away again and others will suffer the consequences." He grabbed her neck in his hand and pulled her forward until he could feel the fan of her breath on his face. "Do you hear my words, Little Rose?"

Hastily, she nodded.

He let her go with a smile. "Since we are discussing fables, and you are an author, I'll tell you a special story. I'll call this, 'The Viewing'. When first I saw you sitting there in the jury box on the inaugural day of my trial, I felt such urges well in my soul, urges I thought had withered away like leaves when kissed by winter. With a single glance, I was enraptured. Once again, I craved to tend my garden. As each day waxed and waned, I watched you, so regal and strong, absorbing everything around you." He paused as he eyes raked over her again. "I admit it took me a while to understand you. I thought at first you were the Sunflower, tall and strong, basking in the glory of Apollo's countenance. But several days later something was said - I forget exactly what but your face bloomed into the most breathtaking smile and I glimpsed the rose hidden beneath." He sat back and regarded her. "I had six perfect blossoms in my garden and was searching for the seventh. Imagine my joy in discovering you there, sitting so primly in the seventh seat of the jury box. It was kismet. My seventh flower in the seventh chair." He stood and walked over behind her. Crouching, he ran a finger over her bare neck. "Seven is a special number for me and my family. Mother's name was Beverly and her twin, my Aunt Breanna. Mother married Gilbert McClane and Breanna chose Terrell Beecher. Do you see the sevens? Each name contains exactly seven letters." He leaned in closer. "Douglas is seven, my brother, Donavan is seven. Your name, Joselyn Kendrik, is another pair of sevens. I confess for a moment, I entertained the thought of wooing you instead of reaping but you chose another." Anger forced his words to sound harsh even to his own ears. "You let a filthy soldier defile that which is mine. It makes me angry to think of him touching you."

Her eyes widen and she wisely chose to change the subject of her infidelity. "Your brother?" she croaked out in a husky whisper.

He sat on the bed. "Yes, Donavan was my brother. He was not my cousin as most people think. Wait, I should qualify the statement. He was my cousin and my brother. I shall tell you an obscure fact, a personal family secret. My Uncle Terrell was unable to produce issue. When Aunt Breanna discovered this, she knew she could not stay with him. It had been her desire to have a large family. Seven children were her goal -alternating boys and girls. She and Mother would become pregnant together, have children together and raise them together. The problem, though, was my mother was already pregnant with me. In order for Breanna to divorce Terrell and discover another man with a seven letter name, it would take too much precious time. So the four of them came to a conclusion. It was brilliant, a truly masterful idea. My father impregnated Breanna. Unlike Terrell, his seed was potent. Unfortunately, Donavan and I were the only children as neither were able to conceive again. However, since my father's seed produced both children, my cousin is also my brother." His face clouded. "And he was taken from me." He picked up one of her shoes he had forced her to remove earlier and slammed it into the wall with enough force to leave a hole. He took a deep breath as if to calm himself and continued. "Donavan knew of my obsession with my garden, of course, he would. He knew everything about me just as I did about him. 'It's too dangerous to go place your gift. Let me do it.'" McClane shook his head sadly. "When I heard the message on his answering machine telling him I had died and he would need to come identify the body, I knew such pain. Pain the likes of which I had never encountered before. Not even the agony of losing our parents so many years ago could come close to the emptiness of losing my brother. I managed to push the hollowness aside and realized this for the kismet it was. If I dared, I could use this horrible circumstance to complete my garden. Strange how fate works. I dressed in his clothes, marched right into the cold sterile room and agreed they had destroyed Douglas McClane. We looked so much alike. His face was... destroyed. It was easy to fool them." He chortled at the duplicity of the officials. "But enough with the history lessons." He stood again and took her hand, pulling her until she stood. Running his hands over her form, he schooled himself in patience and ignored the raging desire to rush and consume her. Instead, he turned her and focused on the zipper running the length of her back. A groan erupted at the sight. She was so ripe and ready. He had promised himself to go slow and enjoy this offering for his garden but it had taken too long to obtain her. His soul couldn't wait. His body couldn't wait. His blade resting on the bed couldn't wait. It was time to make her his. He moaned as he reached for the zipper. "So lovely," he whispered reverently.