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They gently lowered the fairy prince’s body into a glass coffin, leaving bloody fingerprints smudged on the case. His chest had been caved in from battles fought and lost, and they’d filled the space between his ribs with flowers. Even now the flowers grew, blossoming as they drank the last of his blood. The princess’s silver tears fell like rain upon the coffin. True love’s kiss should wake him, but she had tried seven times and nothing had happened. Behind the princess stood her brother, a poet with soft lips and soft moss for hair. He whispered, “Let me try.” But no one heard. They buried the fairy prince alone. By evening, the flowers had grown over his whole face.
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C.G. Drews (Don't Let the Forest In)