The only way I can describe him.

Once upon a time, in a lush garden surrounded by towering trees, there stood a delicate rose vine. It climbed a trellis, its tendrils reaching towards the sunlight, seeking nourishment and warmth. The vine bore buds, waiting patiently for their moment to burst forth into a mesmerizing display of vibrant colors and intoxicating fragrances.

Amongst the many buds, one stood out from the rest. Its petals held a breathtaking blend of scarlet and ivory, each one perfectly shaped and velvety soft. This rose was known throughout the garden as the Queen of Beauty, a magnificent creation that captured the hearts of all who beheld it.

Yet, as fate would have it, a sinister affliction crept into the garden one fateful night. A dark and mysterious rot clung to the air, invisible but potent. This noxious presence sought out the Queen of Beauty, wrapping its insidious tendrils around her, penetrating her very core. Slowly, the rot consumed her, infiltrating her vibrant petals, her delicate stem, and even her thorns.

Strangely, the rose did not wither away as one might expect. Instead, the infection granted her an unholy life cycle, an eerie blend of life and decay. The Queen of Beauty continued to bloom, her petals unfurling to reveal an exquisite but macabre sight. Alongside her vibrant blossoms, patches of decay spread, turning her once-perfect petals into twisted remnants of beauty.

The rose's thorns, normally sharp but harmless, took on a wicked life of their own. They began to grow inward, intertwining with each other and the rot-infested flesh of the vine. As the thorns grew, they pierced deeper into the rose's own being, trapping her in a cruel embrace of pain and decay.

Despite her affliction, the Queen of Beauty refused to relinquish her role as the queen of the garden. She attempted to produce new buds, hoping to share her mesmerizing beauty once more. But as these buds emerged, they too fell victim to the twisted thorns and the suffocating rot. Each bud struggled, choked by the relentless grip of the rose's own decay.

The once-vibrant garden mourned for its beloved Queen of Beauty, now an enigmatic embodiment of life entwined with decay. While the garden thrived with lush greenery and vibrant flowers, it felt the absence of the rose's enchanting allure. Her presence remained, a haunting reminder of both beauty and tragedy.

And so, the Queen of Beauty stood tall, an everlasting paradox. Her exquisite blossoms mingled with the rot and decay, a twisted dance of life and death. Though her thorns hindered new growth and her petals held the marks of corruption, the Queen of Beauty remained an unforgettable symbol of the garden's resilience, reminding all who beheld her that even amidst darkness, there could be a haunting beauty born of the strangest circumstances.