Chapter 2 – The Dream of Midnight Roses

(Jasmine's POV)

The apartment above Raven Bloom was small but cozy, filled with the lingering scent of flowers even at night. I had lived here for years, and yet, as I curled up beneath the soft blankets, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

Not something physical—something deeper, something I couldn't explain.

I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly, willing myself to sleep.

And like always, the dream came.

It was the same as before.

I stood in a field bathed in silver moonlight, the air thick with the scent of roses.

Not just any roses—midnight roses.

They were unlike anything else, their petals so dark they looked black, glistening under the soft glow of the moon. Their scent was rich, intoxicating, familiar.

But I wasn't alone.

A couple stood before me, holding hands. Their faces were blurred, their voices nothing more than whispers lost in the wind. But their hands were clear—their fingers intertwined, their touch tender.

And in their joined hands, nestled between them, was a single midnight rose.

Something about the image made my chest tighten, a strange ache settling in my heart.

I reached out—I always reached out.

But just before my fingers could graze the petals, the wind shifted.

The sky darkened. The air grew colder.

The couple began to fade, their bodies dissolving into the night like smoke.

The midnight rose slipped from their hands—

And just before it touched the ground, I woke up.

The Next Morning

I sat at the kitchen table, staring into my cup of tea, trying to shake the heaviness of the dream.

Across from me, Celeste watched me carefully.

"You had it again, didn't you?" she asked softly.

I nodded. "Same dream. Same midnight roses."

Celeste didn't respond right away. She took a slow sip of her tea, her eyes thoughtful, calculating.

I hesitated before speaking again.

"Celeste," I murmured, tracing the rim of my cup with my finger. "What do midnight roses mean?"

The question made her still.

For the briefest moment, something flickered in her gaze—something guarded, almost wary.

Then, she sighed, setting her cup down with deliberate care.

"Midnight roses are… rare," she said carefully. "They aren't just beautiful, Jasmine. They symbolize something powerful."

I leaned forward, curiosity sparking. "Like what?"

Celeste hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully.

"Some say they represent forbidden love. Others believe they signify a bond that cannot be broken, no matter the cost."

A chill ran down my spine.

Something about those words felt… important.

Like they meant more than she was letting on.

"Why would I be dreaming about them?" I pressed.

Celeste's lips curved into a small, unreadable smile.

"Dreams are tricky things, child," she said lightly. "They don't always mean what we think they do."

I frowned.

That wasn't an answer.

And something told me—Celeste knew exactly what the midnight roses meant.

She just wasn't telling me.