Her story is a story that will bring sadness into the hearts of the strongest of men. Her life is one that never should have been lived; no one deserves what fate has given her. The sorrow of her life is also the beauty of her body, of her mind and of her strength.

For she was and is an English rose in every single way.

 Roses can be blood red, snow white, sunset yellow and so many more colours they are not just red or white, they aren’t just one tone, one singular colour. You cannot categorise a rose that easily there is more to take into consideration. And this is also the case with the girl.

 Roses are strong, they have so much going against them and yet they are still the most beautiful of all the flowers in a garden. They go through more than any others and yet they still stand proud, they never give up the fight.

 People adore roses for so many different reasons, their look, their smell, the character and how ironic a rose is. How it contradicts itself even as it just stands there, but the rose is honest it never tries to cover up its bad points. You have the head of the flower in all its glory and its decency. Then you have the thorns, dangerous almost poisonous, alas the rose is not perfect but it protects itself, as I said it is honest. The rose is upheld by so many and yet some hate it, some thrive of it, some despair if it dies and some look straight past it, they don’t even realise it exists, to them the rose is invisible.

  So metaphorically, yes, she is like a rose.