[ WP ] write a horror story . But the narrator ( who is n't in the story ) thinks it 's a love story .

A mild breeze rolled over the abandoned garden, gently stroking the rose petals with its invisible fingers. Darkthorn Manor was the only spot where wild roses grew and Belle was determined to pick some before dawn. Guided by the light of the moon she strolled up to the rose bush, which was cloaked in the shadow of the house. The angular gothic façade was overrun with climbing ivy and the wind whistled soothingly through the broken windows. 
 
 As she started to fill the basket with the red flowers, her thoughts wandered to the reoccurring dream she had every other night. In the dream she was outside the Darkthorn Manor, picking roses to sell at the market in the morning – just like she was doing now. She would look into one of the windows and the face of a handsome young man would appear. 
 
 A reluctant smile washed over Belle ’ s lips and goose bumps erupted on her arms. It was silly to think that anyone would be watching her; she was just a peasant girl and not a particularly beautiful one. An indignant expression flashed across her face. Still, the dream always had her sweating and bothered when she woke up, and it was hard to fall asleep again afterward. She would lie awake, thinking about her admirer ’ s face in that window. 
 
 It was just a dream, Belle told herself, as her eyes swept over the mansion. The gray spires and gargoyles were an astonishing contrast to the green of nature. The last owners of Darkthorn had vanished five decades ago and the once proud building had fallen into neglect. The rumor was that the count had died in the war and that his wife and children had been forced to leave the countryside for the city – such a tragic story. 
 
 Belle was preoccupied in her thoughts and accidentally pricked her finger on a thorn – a tiny drop of blood squirted out. She quickly put the finger in her mouth and finished up her work. As she picked up the basket and prepared to leave, her eyes shot a final glance at the building. The window was still empty. 
 
 “ I think you ’ re trespassing, ” said a silky voice from the other side of the rose bush. 
 
 It was just the voice she imagined that her dream admirer would have. Filled with a feeling of excitement, she dropped the basket and started backing away. She had waited long for this moment to arrive, but she didn ’ t feel ready yet. 
 
 “ Where are you going so quickly? ” the silky voice said lovingly. “ Don ’ t you want to meet the man of your dreams? ” 
 
 Belle did want to meet him and feel his touch, but for some reason, she ran in the opposite direction – she was clearly confused by her own emotions. Luckily, her admirer was faster and with a giant leap he landed in front of her. He was tall and fashionably pale, and he was dressed in the fine garbs of a discerned nobleman. A charming smile played over his thin lips. 
 
 “ Leave me alone, you monster! ” Belle shouted playfully and turned to run again, clearly playing hard to get. 
 
 “ I shall feast on your blood, peasant, ” the gentleman growled in a non-serious non-threatening tone of voice. 
 
 He really just longed to feel her soft form in his arms, but his emotions were making it hard for him to express himself properly. He landed in front of her again. This time she squealed – in joy, of course. The chase gave her the same thrilling heartbeat-inducing feeling she had when she woke up from her dreams. 
 
 Belle ’ s fingers fumbled out the crucifix from the folds of her dress, and held it up for the gentleman to see – a humble gift of peace perhaps, after so rudely trespassing? His reaction wasn ’ t what she had hoped for – he didn ’ t seem to appreciate the golden necklace at all – so she considered putting it away. 
 
 “ Get that vile thing out of my face, ” the gentleman said. 
 
 He didn ’ t really hate it, he was just teasing her. 
 
 “ No, back off! ” she said, but once again considered putting it away. “ I will never put it away! ” 
 
 The gentleman clearly had a more refined taste of jewelry, and that crucifix was keeping them apart. If they were ever to embrace the necklace had to go and they both knew it. And that ’ s why Belle readied herself to toss it into the bushes. 
 
 “ The crucifix stays in my hand, ” she said stubbornly. “ Now go back to whatever hellhole you crept out of! ” 
 
 Belle was a bit disappointed that he didn ’ t like her favorite necklace, but that was no reason to lash out like that, and she scolded herself for being so rude. 
 
 “ As soon as you turn around, I ’ ll rip your spine out, ” the gentleman said ( which was just a metaphor for showing her his undying love ). 
 
 “ The dawn is coming, ” Belle said, her hand trembling with lust. “ My hand is steady. ” 
 
 And it was true, not that her hand was steady, but that the warm beams of the sun were already peeking over the horizon. 
 
 “ Curse you! ” the gentleman spat, unable to contain his passion. “ I shall find you, peasant girl! ” 
 
 And with that promise of love, he disappeared into shadows of the Darkthorn Manor. Belle ’ s heart was still racing when she picked up the basket and started her journey back to the village. She hoped she would see him again in her dreams and that he would be there waiting for her when she returned to pick new roses the following night. 
 
 “ I am never returning, ” she said. 
 
 She felt ashamed for talking when the story was over. Like a complete insolent brat, in fact. She knew she should ’ ve been thankful for even having a role in this story – most peasants weren ’ t so lucky. 
 
 “ Go away, ” she muttered. “ Your narration sucks. ” 
 
 On the way back she stepped in cow dung, got stung by a bee, and got sunburned. And she definitely sold no roses at the market. THE END. 
 
 “ Right, ” she said smugly. 
 
 A comment that she would regret later when her admirer returned the following night. THE END! 
 
 “ By all means, follow me all the way to the market; I ’ m sure the story will be interesting. ” 
 
 Belle kept walking and was soon a tiny dot in the distance. She would be alone for the rest of her life, because nobody likes a smug person – especially one with bad breath. THE END. 
 
 “ I heard that! ” 
 
 THE END. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

