Crimson Lace Novels & Stories

Her hair was a river of shadows — black with hints of violet and wine - red gloss, curling like dark lava alive with promise and warning. She created chaos and destruction in the mortal world like a shadow slipping through cracks — silent, unseen until everything shattered around her. She whispered promises to greedy hearts, her beauty a weapon sharper than any blade. Mortals fell for it every time. Their eyes locked onto her like moths to a flame, drawn by the impossible allure of her face — too perfect, too captivating to be real. They didn't see the poison beneath the skin, didn't sense the hunger twisting in her smile.

Her gaze dropped to her neck. At first, she didn’t recognize what she was seeing. The pale skin around her collarbone was marked by something that hadn’t been there before. A small, almost imperceptible birthmark—a crescent-shaped pattern—sat nestled just above her skin, hidden under the folds of her shirt. She rubbed it with her thumb, trying to make sense of it, but the sensation only intensified. Her skin seemed to burn where the mark touched, sending a cold shiver of unease down her spine. Lysandra quickly covered the mark, her heart racing in her chest. It was impossible. She had no memory of ever seeing it before, and yet, it felt oddly familiar—like a piece of her had been lost and wa

I said coldly. A lie. A stupid, self-protecting lie. Because I could still feel the ghost of his touch from last night. His hands on my hips like he owned them, his mouth dragging power from mine. And I’d hated how my body responded. How it remembered. How it burned. Ms. Sterling raised an eyebrow. “This black lace is hand-embroidered. Italian. Symbolic. Timeless.” "Take it away and bring me something in a different color" I stared at the gowns not speaking. The stylist hovered nerby, sensing blood in the water, but not sure whose it would be.

A single raise of an eyebrow had me dropping them again and even though I was a vampire, I could feel my self shivering. He nodded at my gown. ''You should get dressed.'' I tried to pull up the gown but Clarrisa had made me wear a gown that was two sizes too small she had brought from heaven-knows-where. He dragged a hand through his hair, the first sign of fraustration I had seen from him. ''If you can't put on the damn gown then leave it and come and sit over here. You and I are going to have a long talk -- nothing I haven't already seen.'' He added, his eyes raking through my bare skin and making my face heat once again as he locked the door and pocketed the key.

Inside, the air was stiflingly warm and smelled of lilies, a scent that was starting to make Aria feel nauseous. Cassandra was standing on a low podium, draped in white silk, while a team of three seamstresses pinned and tucked fabric around her body. This was the third custom gown consultation this week. "The lace is too scratchy," Cassandra complained, batting a hand at the woman kneeling at her feet. "It feels cheap. Does Damian look like a man who marries a woman wearing cheap lace?" "It’s French Chantilly, Miss Hale," the seamstress said meekly, her mouth full of pins. "It’s the finest in the world."

She looked down on her clothes that looked ridiculous, she only had on Kevin's short and an oversize sleeved shirt. The old man had already noticed her an became excited. "My dear Lily!" He called out to her excitedly and Crimson turned to stare at the garden, she then began walking towards them shyly as she bend her head. Amber who heard the old man call out to someone looked back and was shocked to see Crimson walking over towards them in a strange outfit, how did she manage to get into such a respected mansion with that ridiculous dressing? "Grandpa do you know her? That is Crimson my band mate, are you sure you haven't confused her for someone else?"

“A mere prelude, Roberts. The Rachna’s foundation demands a declaration of absolute ownership.” Next came the lace: a minimal set of pure, vibrant scarlet undergarments, a colour that spoke of the blood and risk of their high-stakes political games. The bra was barely a breath of thread, offering tantalising glimpses of the high, full curve of her breasts. The matching thong was a mere suggestion, a slender line of lace that disappeared into the perfect valley of her lower back. She spun slowly for him again, the sheer, vibrant fabric an invitation and a provocation.

Blanche asked, she stood behind them and rested her elbows on one of the shelves near the aquarium. "Because it's nice! Don't you think so too Blanche?" Forest said and Crimson gave her a look. Blanche opened her mouth but didn't say anything. She ran her eyes on them, Crimson was wearing a red long sleeve sweater and Forest have a green mini skirt under her purple dress. Crimson had a more defined waist than Forest but the latter has such a voluptuous body. Their chest was eminent in their choice of dress. "Even Crimson already met hers!" Forest told her excitedly.

Her family was gone, torn apart by death and deception. Someone nudged her and she responded just long enough to place her carnations on top of her parent's caskets. Returning to her seat, she sat down. The numbness had overtaken her and she was unable to feel or care. The dreary day was dark and cold and even though it was early afternoon, it felt as if it were late in the evening. The clouds darkened the sky and a sense of foreboding filled the air. She could feel the tension as she pulled herself back to reality.

The music started softly and was now swelling when the doors at the back opened and Cassandra walked in. She looked stunning, like something out of a dream I used to have. She wore a deep crimson gown that looked rich and bold, it hugged her curves before flowing out in layers of silk and lace, with silver threads woven through like moonlight. A long veil trailed behind her, and diamonds sparkled at her throat and wrists. She carried a bouquet of white roses mixed with red ones, and her hair fell in perfect waves. She had this evil smile playing on her lips as she started down the aisle.