Bleeding Roses Novels & Stories

His breaths rattle through the gurgle in his throat. On the table beside me sits a vase made out of crystal. I take a bundle of fresh white roses, their petals soft, and dip them slowly into the pool of blood collecting at his feet. The red seeps in, darkening the petals, turning them into such a beautiful shade. I arrange them carefully, making sure each stem sits just right, each petal stained evenly. I'll be having this delivered to the mansion later today for my doll face.

It was there, too, in the way her smile did not reach her eyes when she smiled at the memory, and in the way it faded when Damian's voice turned towards her. I saw it when she stood close to me and I took in a close whiff of her perfume with my nostrils, feeling the scent tickling my entirety. I saw it in the red bruise on her cheek when she leaned close to serve my tea, a colour well and artfully hidden by some make up and blush, but clearly seen by me.

оnе perfect rеd rоѕе on thе ѕmаllеѕt оf mу rosebushes. Taking her hаnd we wаlkеd оvеr tо thе bush, аnd thеn I сut thе rose from it wіth mу росkеtknіfе, rеmоvіng the thоrnѕ. Turnіng tо her, I рlасеd thе rеd rоѕе іn hеr hair and kіѕѕеd hеr сhееk.

“Numbers. Dates. Nothing I understood.” “Figures.” He sighed. “Come on, walk with me before you hyperventilate.” *** The corridor lights were dimmed for the night, throwing long shadows along tapestried walls. Alonso matched her steps; his shoulder brushed hers, deliberate. “You don’t strike me as the timid type,” he said. “Because I didn’t faint?” “Because your eyes are on fire.” She blinked. “Allergies.” He chuckled, genuine, warm enough to thaw the winter in her bones. Dangerous warmth.

The roses in the Vitale garden are not red. They are black baccara—a deep, velvety burgundy that looks like dried blood in the midday sun. I am on my knees in the dirt. It is part of the penance. Part of the show. I am wearing the grey uniform, stained at the knees with soil. My hands are gloved in rough canvas, holding a pair of heavy shears. Snip. I cut a deadhead from the bush. It falls to the ground, shriveled and brown.

This is why black roses are now only cultivated in laboratories, under strict supervision and the direct command of the King. I rose up from the floor, keeping my weight on my right leg as I plucked out the glass shards. Then I wrenched the stake out of my leg and stood up on shaky legs, almost falling over as the pain made my vision blur. Walking was even more difficult since I now had a gaping hole in my leg and it won’t be healing for another day with the Holly and Buckthorn now in my bloodstream.

Nicole didn't answer; she opened the note, and her eyes filled with tears as she read what was written. "They say the color of red roses comes from the blood of Aphrodite. When her great love Adonis died, as she went after him, she cut herself, and a drop of her blood fell on a white rose, turning it red. Aphrodite decided to plant vast gardens of red roses to remember her great love." She sighed deeply. Inside the envelope, there was also a photograph. It was of Leandro's garden, where he had planted hundreds of red rose bushes. "Can you leave me alone, please?" she said, unable to hold back the tears streaming down her face.

Looking at the other side all I could see red, a bright and beautiful crimson. The red roses dutifuly bared their thorns, blooming, seducing; killing as the tiny flower beneath it spread its' poison without even touching enemy-anemone is poisonous even without him tampering with it, but letting it spread poison is even quicker than letting it work the normal way. Camelias bloom, beautifully but oh so silently, creating a wall none of the frights can cross. And if it tries, grabbing and biting, it chokes, as ranunculus slowly, discreetly tempers with it's nerves, driving it mad.

Positioning myself and breaking the door using my force, causing a loud sound and the door breaking open. I couldn't process anything in my head as my legs took me towards a man straddling Rose. She was not someone to straddle and take advantage of. I saw a knife and I rip him off her punching him square in his face and holding his throat just like he did to her. I saw the man and a girl running to Rose to help her as one of them call 911.

Jeffrey got up and jumped up and down to get there. He thought the flowers had bloomed, and I was back. But how could a rose that was uprooted bloom? He opened the iron gate of the rose garden and found that the land was loose. He saw Joanna holding a small hoe, squatting on the ground, and plowing bit by bit. "Look, Jeffrey, I want the roses I planted to bloom all over the garden." Without waiting for him to respond, Joanna, who was wearing high fashion and exquisite makeup-, hugged him. "Happy? Besides Audrey, I can also plant roses for you."