Blood Splatter Dress Novels & Stories

But the calm was immediately shattered by what I saw in the center of the room. The white silk dress—my maid of honor dress, the one Darius had commanded to be altered—was there, but it wasn't on a mannequin. It was spread across the main cutting table. And it was completely destroyed. Not just slashed. It was soaked. Drenched in a viscous, dark crimson liquid. The stain was deep, spreading across the white silk like a disease, soaking into the delicate lace and fabric.

The worker settled on green, blue and a blue based purple, she directed us towards the colour she meant before leaving us alone or browse and try things on. Spencer, ever predictable, went straight to the green section. Then again, I was equally predictable and went to the blue section. There was a particular dusty blue fabric dress catching my eye. I pulled it off the rail and I could picture Spencer wearing it. The fabric was stretchy and figure hugging but not too tight, floor length with a high back so she didn’t need to worry about people seeing her scars. The front was a cowl neckline with thick straps on the shoulders. It was simple but could make Spencer shine, with her being small t

"Want to see my dress for tonight?" "Yes," you said. She broke from your arms and went to her bed, lifting the blue dress you had spotted and held it up against her body. It was another summer dress, baby blue with little white dots in a splatter effect that had a full square-necked top and a flowy bottom that looked pretty short. She held up the flower you'd given her next to her ear to show you the matching. "Looks good?" "Looks great," you said. "You're radiant."

Talia asked, motioning towards the screen that was set up in the corner. “Ready as I will ever be.” I replied, moving behind the screen. I tried on three dresses before I got to the dark blue one Coral had picked out. It was more indigo in color, combining elements of blue and purple. The dress itself was a long, flowing chiffon dress. It had a long slit up the side, an open back, and a deep v in the front with spaghetti straps. The bodice of the dress had silver beads that provided a pop of bling without being too gaudy. “I really like this one.” I stated as I stepped out from behind the screen. Romy, whose back had been turned, spun around.

Of shit, I died and went to hell. "Far from it," the soothing voice beckoned me as I stood. I wore a deep crimson dress, one fit for a vampire's mate in some sort of dark Victorian romance. My hand traced the intricate designs, feeling the tiny ribbons of gold threading and the long sheer sleeves of the dress. My finger pricked something too sharp, and my finger began to bleed. Before I could panic, the blood that had slipped between my finger stopped and the scratch healed.

I wonder why? He held my hand firmly, and we walked to the room. I opened my bag immediately and took a dress out. It is a medium Hibiscus-colored dress with a V-shaped neck and net hands. I ran to the bathroom and quickly changed the dress. There is some water in the bathroom and I rinsed the dress quickly, so it didn't leave a stain. I brought the dress outside and hung it near the window for it to dry. I walked to Ril who is lying down on the bed. I sat beside him on the bed

For one, I never do sexy, always tomboy, crazy biker, or psychopathic farm girl. The dress was a light blue color, like icy blue. Though the dress was connected, the front part of the dress was cut out. It was like a crop top with X diamond pearls across the stomach (above my belly button) and connecting to the pearl belt attached to the skirt. It wasn't pearls, though, it was the same clear pearls as the top's. The skirt on its own was a sexy draped high-low skirt with apophyllite lining the hem and matching the spotted snowflake-shaped jewel around the skirt. The dress was in a whole, beaded with diamond-looking pearls and apophyllite. The deep curled neckline, like a thunderbolt, showed m

“You should know. Killian has ASPD.” I blinked. Just like that, my heart fell through the floor. “Oh, and I still hate that dress. You can do better.” I didn’t say anything. Just turned and walked back into the changing room. I reached for the next dress. Then I stopped. There was blood. The dress attendant was on the floor—slumped forward, a clean hole between her eyes. Her body was twisted like a broken doll, blood seeping into the carpet in thick, crimson threads. My stomach dropped.

"In this building, you’re whatever he says you are. Now, get in the shower. We have ninety minutes to turn a scandal into a masterpiece." The next hour was a blur of aggressive exfoliating, cold eye masks, and hair rollers. They worked with a clinical efficiency that made me feel more like a statue than a woman. When they finally pulled the dress from the rack, I froze. It was blood-red. Floor-length, backless, and made of a silk so fine it looked like liquid. It wasn't a "St. Claire" dress. It was a statement. It was the dress a woman wore when she wanted to watch the world burn.