Blvck Roses Novels & Stories

Not in nature. I’ve seen enchanted flowers before—witches sometimes use them for spells—but never like this. Magic hums in the air, subtle yet undeniable. “You like them,” Valentine remarks. I glance at him. He watches me with that same amused expression, his golden eyes half-lidded, unreadable. I don’t answer, but I don’t look away from the roses either. “They’re rare,” he continues, as if I’ve asked. “Black roses don’t survive easily. They require… special care.” His lips twitch. “Like all beautiful things.”

Securing the vial tightly, I stored it safely in my bag and smiled, "Now, only one more remains!" The final element was situated a bit further into the woods, near the cliff edge. This is also the most significant element. Upon reaching the cliff, I looked down, and there they were! The rare black dragon roses. They are unlike any other roses, black in colour, and twice the size of ordinary roses. They are uniquely found only within the confines of the dark forest's cliff! After setting my bag down, I carefully approached the cliff edge, which was somewhat slick from an unexpected rain shower.

The rain in Manhattan didn't wash away sins; it only made the blood slicker on the pavement. Sloane Volkov—known to the underworld as the "Black Rose"—stood in the shadows of an alleyway across from L'Eclat, a club so exclusive its entrance didn't even have a sign. She adjusted the hem of her gown. It was a masterpiece of deep, bruised purple silk that clung to her curves like a second skin. To the casual observer, she was a socialite waiting for a car. To the man she was hunting, she was death incarnate.

He held it up to the light, the delicate pen pressed between his fingers - light yet exquisite. "I like it", he turned, staring at the bouquet of blue roses, his gaze complicated. Dylan scratched his head, an awkward laugh escaping his lips. "That... the flower shop i contacted had ran out of chamomiles and only had those". Matthew inhaled, nodding slowly with a low hum. "Thanks" "It was nothing actually, just something that i had to do...out of courtesy", Dylan smiled, waving his hands lightly. They stared at each other silently for a while, neither having a word to say. After a moment, Dylan cleared his throat, his hands running through his thick, strands of hair.

I could almost see her a pale woman in a ruined silk dress, fingers bleeding as she pruned her precious blooms. "Why black roses?" I asked. Damien's expression darkened. "Because they don't exist." *Damien, Age 9* The greenhouse smelled of chemicals and damp earth. Young Damien crouched behind potting tables, hands clamped over his ears. The shouting from the house carried even here. A rustle of silk. His mother appeared between the rose bushes, her right eye already swelling shut. She gathered him into arms that trembled like wounded birds. "Look, darling," she whispered, pressing his small hand against a velvety black petal. "Magic."

"How about we check out the lavender fields? What do you say?" I grinned and gave him a nod. "Sounds like a plan to me." Two days later, as Trevin was starting his stint behind bars. Edward and I were on a plane to Francoria, off to wander through the dreamy lavender fields. Some people and some things, once missed, are lost for a lifetime. When choosing a path, one should be prepared to bear the consequences.

I sharply commanded the driver, who also had a black mask on. The car lurched forward roughly as the driver pumped the accelerator lever. I cocked my gun and fired two shots in the air from the window. Then with a satisfied grin, I leaned back into the cushion of the car. The smell of cigarette was thick in the car as everyone was nursing a stick. I glanced at the unconscious girl's face, she was an half caste. I could tell from her skin colour, which was copper colored, and her long curly hair. I positioned her well so that her head was on my laps. It gave me the opportunity to study her facial profile well.

A white rose lay on the floor dripping with blood. A small, shiny blade lay beside it. A beautiful object in such a terrible and painful condition. The blood stain on it did not hide it's immaculate and beautiful nature. She puffed smoke in the air and took a sip of the liquor beside her, as she glared at the bleeding rose with sad and anguish filled eyes, it told a lot about her and her agony. She was as beautiful as the rose in front of her.

'' She replies, lightly running her hand at Elis's back. A couple of hours later, I am left staring at the glass window near the back—only watching flowers blossoming beautifully. My lips curve up into a small smile, realising that there's a lot of roses here other than different flowers. To my surprise, I find Fiore standing a few feet from me as she watches the roses, ''They are Elia's favourite.'' She says, breaking the silence. ''Especially orange coloured roses,'' She adds. Roses. Is it a coincident?

Noir texted Henry that she has already gone out. They stopped by the flower shop. Noir went first. Then Robin followed behind her. She looked around the group of white lilies. The yellow ones. Meanwhile, Robin looked at the group of pink roses mixed with red ones. “Would you like some blue iris as well? Or yellow roses?”. Robin did not answer. “Hey, are you listening?”. She looked behind her to see that he was nowhere to be seen. She looked sideways and then saw him staring at the group of roses.