The once erect stalks of the deep maroon roses had stooped, maybe they were tired of waiting for her. The tips of the petals had started browning, yet the softness and richness of the petal blades was retained, perhaps the aspirin did work it's magic afterall. She let out a sigh of relief as she touched them, then pulled them out of the jug one by one, wiped their stalks dry, brought out the heaviest book from the shelf, put as many of the roses as she could between the pages of the book. These need to be preserved.