Are Old Blood Stains Permanent Novels & Stories

Bloodstain. My stomach dropped, and I gritted my teeth against the bile rising in my throat. I dared a glance down again. A faint, dark smear stained the hem of my dress, mocking me, taunting me with its presence. Tears almost rolled down my eyes, as I knew there was no way out for me anymore. I’d be caught with this bloodstain and there was no way to wipe it off. Except for one.

Ava was about to say more about fear, about guilt, about the gnawing sense that something terrible had already begun when she noticed a dark smear on the floor. At first, her mind refused to understand it. The color was wrong, too deep, too stark against the pale stone. Her breath caught. “Jack,” she whispered, eyes fixed on the stain. “What is that?” He followed her gaze and went still when he saw blood. It was fresh, dark, already beginning to dry at the edges. Jack’s hand dropped from her shoulder. “That wasn’t there last night.” Ava’s pulse roared in her ears. Slowly, dreadfully, she followed the trail with her eyes. It stretched down the hall, broken in places, smeared as though somethi

Brownish-red stains—old blood—splattered across the bodice and trailed down the skirt in grotesque patterns. The veil, still attached to matted, tangled hair, hung in filthy tatters over one shoulder. A pungent stench rolled off the figure: the overwhelming reek of decay, damp earth, and rotting flesh that turned Eloise’s stomach violently. She fought the urge to gag.

I stood up slowly, my legs feeling like jelly, and approached the basket. The smell hit me first. It was metallic, sharp, and unmistakable. Blood. Fresh blood. And there it was: a white shirt, or what used to be white, now drenched in red, soaked through with dark, glistening stains. Patches of the original fabric peeked through like mocking reminders, but the rest… It was a horror. My stomach lurched. No. Not again.

"Are these stains blood?" The doctor, who had wisely brought his medicine kit, dug through his bag and pulled out a colorless liquid. With a small dropper, he dripped the liquid on the red smears. Nothing happened for a moment, and then bubbles formed on the stains. The doctor's face was grim, "It is blood, but I cannot say if it is human or not." After the doctor left the Council meeting room, Zan spoke his thoughts, "We do not know that it is the Empress's blood."

Her heart began to pound violently now, each beat echoing in her ears as she looked back into the drawer, her hands moving as if no longer fully under her control. Another dress was there. So, she picked it up slowly. It was a small old but beautiful dress. But it was too small for a grown-up. A teenager’s dress. It was pink. The color faded with time, the fabric thin and worn, like it hadn’t been washed in years. And there, near the hem, was a dark stain, brownish and rusted with age. Blood! Her hands began to shake violently. Beneath it lay a T-shirt, clearly a boy’s or a man’s... also stained with dried blood, stiff with it, the fabric warped by something violent and final.

She admitted that she had thrown it out, but I managed to rummage through the trash bin to take it back. The white handkerchief turned red because of my blood. I had to wash it numerous times to get its original color back, but the best I could do was to leave a faded red stain on it. At first look, nobody would notice that it used to be blood because it looked like some kind of splattered paint.

Samantha squeezed her hand and grinned. “Cause the blood would get on the carpet and ruin it. And this is a nice carpet.” Daren said. The carpet hasn’t been replaced in over 10 years, it was stained and frayed in places and there was a huge grape juice stain in front of my door. Monica was about to pay for her arrogance!

He couldn’t see very much of the blade since it was so embedded in the wood, but he could see the rest quite clearly. The brown, leather handle at the bottom was torn and ripped in a couple of places, and the wood which made the upper part of the handle looked as if it were rotten. As he examined it further he began to notice deep, stains in the leather; all of them were varying shades of red. Some were very dark and some were brighter, some looked as if they had been there a very long time while others appeared as if they were fresh.

I rip it open and shake them out. Sure enough, they’re still damp. I hold up my shirt, looking for any signs of mold or mildew. While I don’t see either my jaw drops at what I do see. The left sleeve has a large hole in it and the back has several tiny holes in it as if it was dragged along something. There was also blood splattered all over it. I drop it and grab my jeans. I unfolded them and I saw the same type of drag marks on them.