Crimson Throns
The encounter
( A dimly lit flower shop at midnight . Hana arrange roses , the only customer a tall man in a black coat)
Ren
"Red roses ... Do you know what they symbo---"
Hana
" I do . And I'm guessing you do too ."
Ren
(chuckling) "Love, passion .... and something darker ."
Hana
(finally glance at him)"Flowers don't choose their meaning . People do."
Ren
( Picking up a rose, twirling it slowly) " And what meaning would you give me ?"
Hana
(pausing ,then quietly ) "Some roses have thorns ."
Ren
(smiling slightly) " The most beautiful one always do."
( A brief silence lingers . Outside the city hums , unaware of the storm begging brew inside the quite shop .)
( Hana closes the shop and walks through empty streets . Footsteps echo behind her . She turns -- no is there .)
Hana
"I feel it… someone is watching me."
(A shadow moves in the alley. A deep chuckle.)
(She quickens her pace, gripping her coat tighter around her. The air feels colder now. Another footstep—closer this time. She spins around again. The street is empty, but the streetlight above flickers, casting jagged shadows.)
(Her breath hitches. A figure stands at the end of the alley, barely visible. A tall silhouette, unmoving. Watching.)
Hana
(whispering): "Who's there?"
(No response. Just the sound of the wind whistling between the buildings.)
(She takes a shaky step backward, her heart pounding. Then—blink—and the figure is gone.)
(A chill runs down her spine as she turns and rushes home, the sense of unseen eyes never leaving her back.)
The Game Begins
(Hana clutches the note, her pulse quickening. The handwriting is elegant yet unfamiliar. She steps onto the porch, scanning the street.)
Hana
"A rose... a warning? Or a challenge?"
(Ren remains motionless across the street. The dim glow of a streetlamp casts long shadows over his figure. He tilts his head slightly, as if waiting for something.)
Hana
(firmly): "What do you want?"
(Ren doesn’t respond. Instead, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small black envelope. He places it on the hood of a nearby car, then turns and disappears into the fog.)
(Hana hesitates before stepping forward. The wind rustles through the empty street as she picks up the envelope. Her fingers tremble as she opens it.)
Letter (reading aloud): "The first move has been made. Your turn."
(Cold dread coils in Hana’s stomach. She glances back toward the alley where Ren vanished. The game has begun.)
(Hana locks the door behind her, heart pounding. She sets the black envelope on the table, staring at the words: The first move has been made. Your turn.)
Hana
(whispering): “What game is this…?”
(She picks up the crimson rose, its petals velvety under her fingertips. A single thorn pricks her skin. A drop of blood blooms on her finger.)
Hana
"A warning... or an invitation?"
(A knock at the door. Sharp. Precise.)
(Hana jumps. She wasn’t expecting anyone. The street had been empty. Swallowing hard, she peeks through the peephole. No one is there.)
(A folded slip of paper slides under the door. Slowly, cautiously, she picks it up.)
Note (reading aloud): "Be careful where you step, little flower. The garden is full of thorns."
(The lights flicker. A shadow moves outside the window.)
Hana
(whispering): "I'm not playing this game."
(But deep down, she knows—she already has.)
The Web Tightens
(Hana backs away from the window, clutching the note. The room feels colder, the air thick with unease. She forces herself to breathe.)
Hana
"This isn’t a coincidence. Someone is watching me… waiting."
(She grabs her phone and dials a number. It rings once… twice… then straight to voicemail. Frustrated, she tries again. Still nothing.)
(A sudden thud echoes from the back door. Hana’s breath catches. She turns slowly, heart hammering. The kitchen light flickers again, casting shifting shadows on the walls.)
(Summoning courage, she grips a nearby kitchen knife and steps toward the door. She presses her ear against it. Silence.)
(The silence stretches—too long. Then, just as she exhales, a whisper drifts through the door.)
Mysterious Voice: "Your move."
(Hana stumbles back, pulse racing. Her grip tightens on the knife. She won’t just sit back and wait. If this is a game, she needs to learn the rules.)
Hana
(determined): “Then let’s play.”
(She yanks open the door—)
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