Dark Red Aesthetic Novels & Stories

I want something that screams at personality change, while still giving a hot and seductive look. “Crimson red.” I say. “Wonderful choice Mrs. Andrea.”

It's a birthday, i would have preferred wearing black but that would have seemed like I was wishing him ill will. Gotta look like I'm bringing blessings and red is a color of fertility. Just as I've finish doing a fit check I hear a wow. I turn to find a stunned Alex behind me. He's dark hair had been styled back, he was dressedvin a black suit but equally scarlet evening shirt. He looked Bad, but not bad bad more sexy, bad. Makes me think of the novels I read, all the mafia, bad boy protagonists. Yeah.

“No. Fully dark colors would make readers assume it’s a tragedy steeped entirely in darkness. Your book isn’t only about wounds. There’s hope.” I swallowed, startled. “You read the synopsis?” “I read everything before accepting a project,” he replied firmly. I opened one of the catalogs and stopped at a page. A palette of grayish blue, with a faint touch of pale cream in one corner. Soft, yet still carrying a cool undertone. “This,” I said quietly. “This feels right.” Rudolf stepped closer. Not too close, but close enough to see clearly. “This is good. It leaves room to show the main character’s fragility without weakening her.”

There's a sharp gasp, followed by an icy voice. “Astria’s trunk!” Anisa, one of Astria’s friends hisses. Oh goddess! Why do you hate me?! As if dealing with Astria is not enough, I have to deal with red-head skank from hell! Fuck me! Is it me or has she become uglier since I last saw her? Astria sweeps forward, her cloak trailing behind her. Of course it is red. These idiots will ruin the beautiful colour for me. Astria’s lips press into a thin line. “Do you have any idea what’s inside that, you clumsy fool?” she snaps.

The walls were a deep charcoal, almost black, and the floors of polished concrete gleamed underfoot, cold and sleek. Filled with dark aesthetic art pictures on the shinny walls. The living room sprawled out with endless floor space, its minimalist furnishings in deep shades of gray, black, and silver. A low, angular couch rested atop a dark rug, its texture so luxurious that it felt like velvet beneath her feet.

Servers dressed in black moved around, offering champagne and appetizers, while a stage awaited the host's arrival at the opposite end of the space, ready to commend all the attendees for their presence. “This is beautiful,” I inhaled deeply, my focus fixated on an enigmatic masterpiece adorning the distant wall. It was an ethereal and captivating painting, unlike any my eyes had ever beheld. From afar, I could discern its essence, a mesmerizing fusion of crimson and ebony brushstrokes giving life to a tormented woman, her piercing screams resonating as she desperately clawed at her flesh. To some, it may appear disturbing, but beneath the surface, it encapsulated the very essence of our exi

~ Nikki ~ We are sitting at the railing, overlooking the stage, with no obstruction of our view, whatsoever. Overhead, the red-and-white-striped, billowy awnings—with their accompanying small-bulbed, string lighting—create a Big Top effect that’s enchanting. Everything is red. Strikingly red. Almost a deep crimson that is sexy and seductive, rather than that cheesy, middle-of-the-road red that just screams Valentine’s barfed all over, and it’s not a pretty sight. Know what I mean? Maybe not. I have a thing about red, I guess. It can look dated, like… 1980s taffeta bridesmaids dresses with those tremendously puffy sleeves and ginormous bows on the butt, and the sickly sweet color that seems f

“Now… the color.” “Red,” Rob said from behind us. I whipped my head toward him. “Excuse me?” “You’ll stand out and disappear at the same time. No one would associate it with your real life,” he added lazily, flipping through a file like this wasn’t about me becoming someone else entirely. Liana nodded. “A deep scarlet. Rich and dramatic. You’ll look dangerous. Perfect.” I let out a quiet breath and nodded. “Fine. But no bleach.” “Of course not. Your hair’s a gift. I’ll treat it like one.”

She said, ignoring my sudden bad mood. I follow her without saying anything, Damon close behind. If only I could fight with him now I would punch him with my nails in his arm. I know my face and what works or doesn't work on me, so I immediately identify the products I'm going to use. I'm not a big fan of flash colors. I either wear lip gloss or quite dark colors, although this is rare. And of course red. You can never go wrong with red. “You know what,” Ella calls out to me, “The Westwood company tried to buy Mac.”

His supposed brown melts into crimson red. Holy shit.