Burnt Roses Novels & Stories

If Grey had sent the flowers here, Grey already knew her true identity. Realizing this fact, Keyara's face became gloomy and restless. The smoke rose high into the sky. Thousands of flowers were Burned in the side yard of the house. The maids whispered, feeling regretful. They whispered and speculated among themselves. Every rose petal that entered the flames was charred and turned to ashes. The burning of the roses was witnessed by Keyara, and she wiped away her tears. In the midst of the gardeners, Keyara saw Ares slip in among them, giving instructions.

Her certificate, the manuscript she had written and giggled while reading every night before going to bed, the bed and pillow she had found so much comfort from… they all burned in her presence and her weak self could only kneel 50 inches away from it and cry helpless. Her shoulders trembled as she whimpered, glaring at the flames that blazed at all angles. Rosealba stilled watching the flames as though they were blazing in her eyes. The heat from the fire scorched her skin from afar, yet she knelt, stubbornly waiting for the flames to catch with her and burn her lonely self away. Nothing mattered again. Her certificates were in that building, burning. The books she wrote to cheer herself bu

2) S A A N V I 3) R A A N I S A O T H E R C H A R A C T E R S A R E M E N T I O N E D L A T E R I N T H E C H A P T E R S " Sometimes the rose has to burn to let the flames cry a song of agony and stealth anguish, a burn so fiery to melt down the sinner into ashes. His sin, the tainted love, all nothing but cinders and whispers of the wind who had witnessed him unleash the demon hidden beneath the layers and layers of a beautiful persona, too magnetic to bewitch every soul but hers "

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – “The Kiss That Burns” The Emberfall garden lay hushed in the night, its roses glowing faintly with emberlight. Moonlight spilled in fractured streams across the stone paths, but even the pale glow of the sky seemed dull compared to the restless shimmer of the fire-roses. Their petals pulsed faintly, ember veins flickering as if they, too, were listening for something.

Stephanie yelled as she looked into the box. "W-what? What's wrong?" Khloe asked before she looked in? There was a rose, a single Rose, but it was unlike any she had ever seen before, it had black petals and was placed in a small puddle of blood. Another thing that was strange about this rose was that it was burning, but a very low burn like at any moment it would go out" And it stunk, real bad. So bad she had to take a step back. Stephanie lifted the rose from the box, "Are you crazy mother? You'll get burnt!" Khloe yelled horrified but was shocked when it didn't hurt her, however, half the petals turned to ash and disappeared into thin air,

He hissed in pain and stumbled back, trying furiously to smother the blaze with his power. It was useless. He could only watch as the roses—the vessels of a hundred years of memories—vanished into the fire. “Are you insane?!” He finally spun on me, his eyes burning hotter than the flames. His voice was laced with outrage. “You burned them? A century of work, an eternity of promises—and you just destroyed it all? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

She couldn’t believe this was happening, it still felt like a dream. “The roses out here aren’t just for decorations. They signify every scar, every tears, every pain, and every hurt. In few days, the roses will all wither, and I hope the pains and past wither with them.” Rebecca couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. Axel wiped them off with his thumb. “You’re my heart, Becca.” He confessed, his voice almost breaking. “And if the world ever tries to hurt you again, I will burn it down.”

Rosalie spent the next two days in the hospital. Her left hand was swathed in gauze, the severe burns beneath sending sharp pulses of pain through her with every movement, forcing her to stay still and cautious. Meanwhile, Brandon was swamped with the fallout from the press conference. He didn't have time to visit, so he sent her bouquets—roses and baby's breath, the same flowers she had loved back in college. But the truth was, she had only ever liked them because Brandon liked them. And Brandon's preference? That came from Nina, who always wore the scent of roses.

Blood roses. Rafael’s hand tightened around the fragile flower, crushing it slowly between his fingers. A symbol. A secret. Not grief. Not loss. Love. Defiance. War. His lips curled into a dangerous smile. "So," he said softly, almost lovingly. "The game has only just begun." He tossed the crushed rose onto the floor, grinding it under his boot. "Bring me Matteo," Rafael ordered, his voice sharp as a whip. "And this time... bring the girl too."