So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near --
"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."
"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you..."
"Yes, that is so," said the fox.
"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.
"Yes, that is so," said the fox.
"Then it has done you no good at all!"
"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the colour of the wheat fields." And then he added: "Go and look again at the roses. You will understand that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I shall make you a present of a secret."

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.
"You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."
And the roses were very much embarrassed.
"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passer-by would think that my rose looked just like you - the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose."

And he went back to meet the fox.
"Goodbye," he said.
"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: it is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."
"It is the time I have wasted for my rose --" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose..."
"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.


Rose put down the book, almost in tears. It wasn't even the end yet, and she knew that the ending was the saddest part of all. How distressing it was, for a children's book, to watch a poor little boy leave the thing he loved, only to find that nothing else was quite as wonderful as that flower on the asteroid he called home. She sat for a moment, pulling her knees to her chest, and thinking of her home. The little prince said that what gives things their beauty is something that is invisible. That was very true; what made sitting by the lake so beautiful was the fact that deep beneath the water there were so many treasures lost - like her necklace nearly was. What made her house so beautiful was the fact that behind the wall, her father was sitting there, happily reading, stroking a cat between its ears. What made the forest so beautiful was the fact that among the trees were creatures that no person has ever seen, and yet they were right there, not even a mile away from her. She frowned and shook her head, upset by the idea that as she grew older she would have to forget these things and be concerned with numbers, and money. They were not matters of consequence.

Marcus flew through the air, his wings stretched wide beside him. The glossy black feathers shone in the midday sun, bringing out the blues, greens and purples inside of the black. He cawed softly, flapping twice, before gliding and closing his eyes, just enjoying the feel of the wind against his skin. His golden eyes gleamed, picking out objects around him. The blades of grass, leaves on the trees, tiny daisies, the shimmering water of the lake. Just small, insignificant details which made this world beautiful to him. He smiled inwardly, seeing Rose sitting by the lake, and glided down, landing neatly beside her. He nibbled her hand affectionately, cawing again.

Every time she heard a bird call, Rose had taken to looking up, just to check if it was him. And it was him this time, for a change. She smiled, but found herself overcome by an inexplicable sadness, which was only exemplified rather than softened when he came to rest beside her and pecked at her hand. "It's all going to change now," she whispered to herself, though she knew he would hear. Everything would. Her father, after what Gary had done; the school, considering what Alex wanted to do; her life, what with the promise she made to Marcus a few nights ago; the world, torn apart by the war that was inevitably approaching faster and faster. Nothing seemed solid or secure. Even Marcus, renowned for his predictable, consistent coldness had changed. The ring was still cold on her finger. No one had noticed it yet.

Marcus cocked his head to the side then transformed back into his normal self. "What's wrong, Rose?" he asked, sitting cross legged next to her. He watched her carefully, trying to read her facial expression. She seemed...sad...about something or lots of things, he couldn't tell. 'It's all going to change now,' what did that mean? The world was always changing, nothing ever stood still, so he couldn't quite see why that would be upsetting her, if it was the thing which was upsetting her.

"Everything's...different," she replied, defeated. The book lay open next to her, and every time she glanced down, she saw the words, "You are responsible for your rose." She looked up at him suddenly, grabbing his arm and staring at him wildly, her dark eyes wide in horror. "You are responsible for me, aren't you? Because...you tamed me, didn't you? I - I can't be responsible for myself. I can feel...it's slipping..." Then she turned away with the shame of it all, and hid her face so that he couldn't see that she was about to cry. It was all shifting. And all she could think was, It's about time, it's about time...

Marcus frowned, confused by her words. He held onto her hand, his skin strangely cold against hers. "You've always been responsible for yourself, Rose, everyone is. They just have people who help them along. Everyone is independent in their own right, they don't need to be 'tamed'. Rose, i don't understand what you're talking about. What's slipping?" he asked, still holding onto her hand, his thumb running back and forth comfortingly.

He's never seen me like this. "R-read the page," she mumbled, handing him her well-thumbed copy of 'The Little Prince' and hugging her knees closer to her chest, staring at the little silver band on her finger. If she could just keep looking at it, everything would be alright. It would stay there, and so would she. The thought that she was...engaged...to someone who'd never seen this was a frightening one - how would he know what to do? He wouldn't know whether he ought to indulge her fantasies or be realistic and tell her to stop, to calm down. How far would he let her go? Would he give her stones to put in her pockets? Would he walk with her into the lake? Would he push her head below the water - just because she asked? No; Marcus never did what people asked.

Marcus continued to frown but read the page that she had shown him. "I still don't quite understand Rose. I'll always be here to help you, if that's what you are trying to say." He knew that Rose was bipolar but he'd never been around her when she had been high or low, and so, had no idea what to do with her. Was he supposed to go along with it or tell her to stop being silly? "Change is alright, though," he said, smiling softly, "It's ok for things to change."

"You must understand," she began, speaking very quickly. "That over the next few days I will say and do things that I do not mean, and that I do not want to, and you mustn't listen or believe them, or help me in any way. You mustn't do what I ask you to, and you must just stay and not leave again. You mustn't be hurt by anything I say or do, because it's not true. If you find me with another man, you mustn't be hurt because it's not me. I love you - I would never do that, not now, but... I won't be thinking correctly, and afterwards I probably won't remember. But you mustn't do anything I ask, even if I beg you to." Her breathing became more ragged as she tried to contain her tears, and also a terrifying scream that was building up in her chest, and she fell sideways slightly so her head was resting on his lap, but she was still hugging her knees tightly. It was too late; there was no stopping it now.

Marcus looked at Rose, his frown turning from one of confusion to one of worry. Seeing how distressed she was, he just nodded, "I promise. I'm here, don't worry." He watched as she lay down in his lap, the frown still creasing his forehead. Perhaps he should take her to see Madam Promfry, but then again, that might make things worse. He stroked her hair gently, making sure that her chest was still rising and falling. He hoped that nothing bad was going on, but he hadn't the faintest idea about manic depression or what to do about it.

"Please don't leave again," she whimpered, burying her head in his thigh. His hand in her hair was comforting, reminding her that reality still existed, that there was something in her life worth staying sane for, when all else had gone - or so it seemed. She tried to breathe more deeply and slowly, but it made her body tremble with the effort, and soon she went back to the strange, ragged sobbing she'd been at before. Something was squeezing her skull; it hurt in that dull, aching way it always did, as if a giant pair of tweezers were gripping her brain and trying to remove it. She needed her brain, she didn't want it removed! She gasped in pain and gritted her teeth, preparing herself for the all too familiar battle...

Marcus stroked her hair gently, "It's ok, darling, i'm not going anywhere without you. I'm here. Just...just try to breath deeply, ok?" he said, using a tone of voice that was extremely unfamiliar to him - comforting. He watched her face carefully and saw that she seemed to be in some sort of pain. "Rose? Shall i take you to Madam Promfry?" he asked, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He didn't even know any of her friends, wasn't one called Bary or something? 'Perhaps it will just pass,' he thought, or rather, hoped.

Gradually, the pain stopped, and all that was left was a sickening anger that remained, throbbing, in the back of her skull. She could have screamed. She could have screamed out loud and punched the ground and snapped her wand and ripped her book in half and torn all her clothes until there was nothing else except herself and this primal rage that wouldn't leave. All she wanted was oblivion. She felt she was being hunted down; she sat up very suddenly, and looked around, her body tense and alert. But no; no one. No one... There was never anyone, except Marcus, who was sitting there, seemingly frozen. There was never anyone to hear her. She wanted blood, she wanted bone, she wanted anything that would signal destruction. She wanted something to save her, to cleanse and purify her mind with fire, until she was safe and light and free again. It made no sense, but it made perfect sense. She clenched her fists - she couldn't hear Marcus - and, letting out a cry of frustration, punched the ground, almost hard enough to snap one of the brittle bones in her white hands.