So have a seat, and I'll tell you a story the likes of which you've never heard.
"In Araby, they say, that once upon a time, all roses were white.
One evening, beneath a waning moon, a nightingale alighted by such a rose--a tall, white rose--and when he saw her he fell at once in love.
Now, until that time, no nightingale had ever been heard to sing. They passed their lives in silence, from one end to the other, but so brave was this nightingale's love for this exquisite white rose that a song of wondrous beauty burst from his throat and he threw his wings about her in a passionate embrace. The nightingale clasped the rose to his breast, but with such wild passion that the thorns pierced his heart, and he died with his wings wrapped around her.
The nightingale's blood stained the rose's white petals. And that is why, ever since, certain roses bloom red."
--Matthias Tannhauser (The Religion; Tim Willocks)