Novel & Cerita Blood Splatter Dress

Charli I stared nervously at the full-length mirror in our dressing room. When I'd opened the large box that had arrived earlier in the day, I gasped, shocked at the dress Nox had ordered. It wasn't the dress itself. It was beautiful: direct from Saks Fifth Avenue with a designer tag. What surprised me was the color. Red. Bright candy-apple red. Bring-traffic-to-a-screeching-halt red. I had to wonder if it was some kind of play on the skater dress I'd purchased months ago.

Zella looked at the servers, who were confused for a few seconds until they nodded their heads. "What are you waiting for? I don't have much time," Zella growled as the servants looked petrified before finally leaving after getting yelled at by Zella. They reappeared with fabric paint that appeared to be in a sealed container. Zella immediately took the red paint and poured it over the surface of the dress, from the waist to the ankles. The liquid flowed like fresh blood. "Miss! What are you doing?" The maids screamed and covered their mouths when they saw the bone-white dress that looked holy turn into a death dress that looked like a dress after a murder.

“Kira is throwing a party at Heron’s Club and you’re not rotting in bed over anybody’s son.” I groaned into my pillow. “Layla—” “Nope. Get up. Wear something slutty. I want men to pass out.” So I did the only thing a hurting girl does. I obeyed. I stood in front of my mirror staring at a version of me I didn’t recognize. The dress was less a garment and more a highly effective piece of weaponized distraction. It was cut from a single, shimmering piece of obsidian liquid silk, designed specifically to defy gravity and good sense.

He needs to make sure the stress of last night, the dip in the ocean, and the trauma didn't damage the prize. "I need to dress," I say. Iñigo steps back into the hall to wait. I walk into the closet. I push past the bright colors…the yellow dress I wore for the sniper, the blue silk from the dungeon. I find a dress at the back. It is grey. High-necked. Long-sleeved. It feels appropriate. It feels like mourning. I put it on. I brush my hair mechanically. I don't look in the mirror. I don't want to see the ghost staring back.

Haze's dress for the gala was a breathtaking creation in a mesmerizing sky-blue hue. The gown gracefully cascaded down to the floor, exuding an air of elegance and sophistication. Its flowing silhouette accentuated Haze's slender figure, hugging her curves in all the right places. Adorned with delicate diamond embellishments, the dress shimmered and sparkled as if reflecting the starry night sky. The diamonds formed intricate patterns along the bodice, adding a touch of glamour and capturing the light with every movement.

Just the thought of Damon dying sent me over the edge of tears and disappear, I couldn’t help but think he had ended his life rather than live with that pain. “My dear! You look stunning!” Alpha Darren’s voice broke my thoughts as I twirled in front of him, my dress a flowing masterpiece. Designed to replicate my mother’s own dress she had worn back in the day. The sleeves were long and hung over my hands, the back had black ribbon crossing up to the mid of my back but flowing over my hips showing off my hourglass frame. It was a mix of black trimming and an icy blue tint to it to match my eyes.

It was another beautiful evening, Blaire looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting the delicate fabric of her dress. It was a simple, elegant piece, a soft blush-pink cocktail dress that hugged her figure in just the right places and flared out gently at the waist. The dress held a special place in her heart; her mother had given it to her as a rare gift, something beautiful from her modest life that reminded her of simpler, kinder moments. Blaire touched the soft fabric with a small smile, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement flutter in her chest.

She assumed that he hadn't touched her intentionally—he had simply acted out of panic. She went to the restroom. The front of her dress was drenched with red wine, and the stains were difficult to clean. She happened to be wearing a dress made out of silk that day. It was probably unsalvageable now. Millie didn't want the dress to go to waste, so she tried her best to clean it. When she looked up again, she felt her blood run cold, and her face turned deathly pale.

She slipped into the dress and summoned Cherry, who assisted in tying the designed rope at the back of the dress. The dress was long-armed, but the arms were transparent as well. It was a visible back dress as well, which could have shown the bruises on her body, but because they were covered with makeup, none of them were apparent to the eyes. The stones on the body of the dress sparkled under the light in her room, and honestly, she has to say, it was top-notch. But then again, could she care? Absolutely not! She was walking into a miserable life, so what was the point?

“Why does everyone look like they just escaped a murder scene?” I stepped closer and unzipped the bag. The scent hit first—chemicals. Then the visual. My breath caught. The dress was ruined. The soft champagne silk was slashed down the middle, the sleeves shredded beyond repair. The bodice was smeared in something thick and dark red—paint or blood, I couldn’t tell. The delicate veil? Burned. Melted at the edges like someone took a lighter to it and let it curl into ash. “Where’s the stylist?” I asked, my voice low and even. “She was supposed to be here already.”