Rose is living up to her name, wrapping herself in a blushing, fluffy environment of pinks. Pale, flush, powder, peach all the colours that make us think of the inside-most, tenderest parts of flowers. The lips of the first person we kissed. The feeling in our cheeks of lust and exertion, passion rising, the colour of Roses chest as she works herself into needing, a world of cherry bubblegum, sparklers against sunsets, the implication of blood, pumping hard, just under the surface.
