Always Red Novels & Stories

That might mean putting myself in an uncomfortable situation, but I couldn’t just sit by and let Horace continue to intimidate my pack either. I walked quietly through the woods, wearing a red shirt and jean shorts. Red had become my favorite color, not only because of Grandma’s story about Little Red Riding Hood but because Ben had identified red as the color of my energy. It suited me, too, I thought. Red was assertive. It was powerful. It was bold and noticeable. Before I came to Whispering Hollow, I never would’ve thought that I could be any of those things. Now, I knew it was my destiny to be all of those things.

At least Dad warned me about the big, swanky Christmas party he’ll be holding in a couple of weeks. I wonder if he’ll think red is a good color. It’s a festive red, deep, almost burgundy. Not like a stop sign or anything. It’s cut straight across my chest, exposing my shoulders, but with long sleeves and a full-length skirt. I can’t imagine he would raise any objections.

The Red Rave's car was armored, so the security decided to stay inside it and prepare to leave as soon as possible. The armor was not enough to calm Darren and Kath, who embraced each other and cried, terrified, living the materialization of the nightmare that had haunted them once. It also did not deter Timothy, who pounded the bodywork, hit the windows with the revolver, after firing two shots at the front window and discovering the protection.

If I wasn’t wrong, then right then, thirty or more dress in front of me in various shades of red like Madder, Crimson, Cardinal red, Poppy red, Carmine, Spanish red, Rusty red, Chocolate cosmos, Rosewood, Imperial red, Cordovan, Fire engine red, Rose vale, Old rose, Bittersweet Shimmer, Light red, Light Coral, Garnet, Rose ebony, Chili red, Vermilion, Misty rose, Turkey red, Salmon, Cantaloupe Melon, Barn red, Blood red, Tea rose, Cinnabar, Dark red, Fire brick, Indian red, Lust, Maroon, Redwood, Scarlet, Tomato, Bittersweet, Jasper, Rosy brown, Rose taupe, Fluorescent red, etc. He asked me to wear RED but didn’t tell me the exact shade of red. "What are these for?" I heard Mom's voice. I tu

『.*+ •ᴄʜᴀᴘ. ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ+ •*.』 THE RED AURA AROUND SCARLETT'S SKIN LESSENED INTO A FAINT STRAWBERRY GLOW.

"Are you serious?" She nodded and the saleslady, who earlier was elated was now annoyed at Ligaya. She just lost a big earn because of Ligaya's strangeness. And so Ligaya and V proceeded to the men's section where clothes of her taste were located. There, she immediately spotted a black V-neck and a navy blue rounded-neck

Alec couldn’t speak in too much irritation and probably, anger. His eyes were so dark and it was almost red, like the color of evil itself. The color of blood and war. The color of death. Yes, red can symbolize love like that of a rose. But it could symbolize many things such as what I have mentioned already.

She tossed her cup into the trash, Anna following suit. Anna looked at me. " Red is totally your color." I knew it, my gut is never wrong. I sighed again, also tossing my cup in the trash. There was no getting out of it. "If we are going to do this, any color but red." Bella shook her head. "No, red is perfect. It's my brother's favourite. " Fuck my life.

I most definitely didn't hate him but did I- Suddenly, I was grabbed by my hips and my legs went around Narc's waist snapping me out of my thought. I stared at his eyes. Red fucking eyes. The Martinez gene. It was unbelievable that some people could even possess the eye colour red but him and his family was living proof that It's possible. Red was most infamously known to be the colour of anger and in his reputation, he had the worst anger temper I have ever seen before. Never have I ever thought of it as love because it could potentially be like that. Guess it will always be some sort of fucking mystery.

He left without arguing this time. I watched the screen again. The Mark on her shoulder pulsed once beneath the fabric faint red glow leaking through cotton. My skin remembered that same heat. I touched the burn on my palm. Still there. Still wrong. The last time I felt power I couldn’t control, I was ten. And my father was still alive. He used to sit in his study, whispering to himself after the whiskey took hold. “We bargain with the dark,” he’d say, glass shaking in his hand.