Break&Sharon, prompt: unspoken promises, death.

A thorn pricks her finger and the yellow rose slips through her grip. Sharon inhales sharply, then inspects the damage; a shallow cut with blood seeping through.

"Miss Sharon," Break joins her, appearing from thin air, accompanied none other than a tea tray and a selection of confectionary. "I must have been mistaken; I assumed you were full of grace."

Her cheeks fluster and she cannot help but look at the incriminating yellow rose. That particular rose is askew in comparison to the neat compilation, each group chosen for their colour, and spread around the circular table. "I am not as accustomed to the art of flower arranging as I would like to be." She admits, and does not meet his eyes until he takes her injured hand and raises it to his mouth, kissing it once on the cut and the other on the palm of her hand.

"Be that as it may, I think you are already a natural." He teases her, and his words of praise sends a wave of warmth spreading throughout. "Despite the mortal peril you are in, I daresay you might live."

"I wasn't aware you had a healing touch." She draws her hand away, and looks for a handkerchief that refuses to be found.

He bows his head ever so slightly, and his half-crooked smile cannot help but make her laugh. "I am but a servant." He pauses, and selects a white rose, rolling the stalk between his finger and thumb, while his other hand touches the petals, almost reverently. "However, I would say that white would suit you best, if not for a few things."

"Oh?" At this, Sharon cannot help but arch an eyebrow and wait for him to continue.

"Perhaps pink would be a more appropriate choice." At that, Break returns the white rose and selects a dark pink rose and a light pink rose, then twines the stems together, artistically crafting a combination of something new and beautiful. "But which, I could not say, and I believe that it would be a prettier ornament than something to describe you." He continues, still in a thoughtful tune. "Roses cannot do you justice, Miss Sharon."

She says nothing, but decides that later she will find a vase for those flowers and place them in her room.

"Even so, as a parting gift, I would give you these." He chooses a red rose and a white rose, leaves them simple and pressed in her uninjured hand, fingers clasped gently over the thorns and untarnished by it's sting.

"But white—"

"Not alone, no." Break nods agreeably. "The yellow, perhaps, but white would be misleading."

There is a language hidden in flowers, or so Sharon has heard. She does not know the difference between lavender flowers or blue flowers, but both remind her of Break for reasons she cannot determine. Nevertheless, it does not escape her notice that Break steals away the bouquet of black roses and hides them behind his back after he retires from her company. Sharon is left to wonder, as she glances once more at her moderately attended hand and her roses given to her by Break, what he has left unsaid.