Dear Diary,
Hi there. I'm Roseluck, and I'm writing a diary. I grow roses. Most of them are red, and they sell very well.
Well, I'll see you sometime soon!
From your dear friend, Roseluck.

Roseluck chewed her pencil, wondering how again she had bought a diary and written exactly the same thing as the year before. She just couldn't keep up the diary for more than two days. Most of the time, she was growing roses. Their delicate flowers that just didn't go right for other ponies if they didn't look after them properly, and their delicate but sharp stems that rise into the bottom of the flower.
Roseluck didn't have much of a life besides growing roses.

She kept on chewing her pencil, which she had changed to a pen. The plastic was going to wear out her teeth even more than they already were, but she dreaded going to Colgate to fix them up, as the dentist would probably issue some painful punishment. She always did, and even Celestia's guards were afraid of her, so she could walk around the street with her head up, not caring about intrusions into her life.

Roseluck looked over to the vase of roses she kept on the windowsill that overlooked the garden. Her garden had around 20 roses in it, and maybe one or two tulips for luck. The tulips seemed to shorten the amount of time the roses grew.

Roseluck sighed, placed the pencil-gone-pen and opened up her book of growing roses. In it were very detailed images of a pony using roses in recipes, planting them, growing them, sustaining them and picking them. It was literally the Book of Roses. It was the Book of Roses, which Roseluck's family had guarded ferociously over the years, hiding it from peeping eyes. She opened it to page 164, which was the page for mass production for roses, and how her business thrived. Or she would have turned to page 164, if it was there.

Author's Note

Yup. I don't know.