Dying Roses Blue Novels & Stories

for contract signing and artist orientation. My breath caught. “Tessa,” I whispered. When she didn’t stir, I shook her shoulder a bit violently. “Tessa, wake up!” She blinked, her eyes red and groggy. “What—what’s wrong? Is something burning?” I grinned, my heart pounding so loud it almost drowned my words. “No, nothing’s burning. I got it. The role. I just got a mail from bluebird” It took her a second to process. Then she shot upright so fast the blanket fell toff her body as she stood up. “What? Are you serious?!”

Rose brings out another bouquet with mostly white carnations and blue hydrangeas. “Wow, just those two flowers alone are beautiful,” says Keila. “I agree. It’s perfect,” I say. “For the tables I have arrangements in blue vases with either white roses or white carnations and then silver vases with blue hydrangeas.” She brings out an example of each. The blue vases have a silver ribbon tied on them and the silver vases have a blue ribbon tied to them. “It’s perfect. I wouldn’t want to change anything,” I reply.

The petals were flushed with deep crimson, some were flushed with snowy white, their velvety folds heavy with dew. I favored these Bloodwine roses and snowflake roses, as Mira normally called them and I had bred them well to bloom despite the cold. Just... Like me. 'The sky seems to be whispering words to us. It's unfortunate we just can't understand... Something doesn't feel right' Diane stirred and I giggled. 'Its just the weather Diane'

He softly spoke. Geezzz!!!! I just nodded and flashed him a smile. “I never knew you loved pink roses?” He asked. He mentioned pink roses and I remembered the roses that Sylvester brought. Killian must have seen them!! “Ummm yeah I do, they have such a soft vibe to them!” “I love blue roses, they are delicate!”. Okay I never thought Killian was the type of guy to love flowers or even love some colour. “You love blue and you love flowers?” I was very surprised.

~Althea I stared straight into his deep blue eyes in wonder. They were so clear and pure, with no imperfections or specs in them at all. Blushing red roses lay on the table in front of me, wrapped in purple coloured cellophane, with a ribbon strung around it. They were wilting already in the heat, dropping down over my fingers as I fondled the petals gently. It was such a nice gesture. They vivid colours clashed with the blue plaid tablecloth and green placemats.

I should certainly make a YouTube channel to show off my uniqueness; I'm sure I'll gain a large following within a short period of time. The average Percusian is very tall and slim, just like the Fulanis of Nigeria, although we're usually light-skinned. Most of us have brilliant golden hair that is straight and natural, similar to peroxide blondes, but mine is jet black and develops bouncy curls when I don't wrap it. This, coupled with my caramel skin makes me stand out, but not in a bad way. Almost everyone I come across thinks I'm very beautiful and distinctive, except the glam girls, of course. I'll tell you about them later, don't worry.

And as Martinez stepped into the dark foyer, the heavy, suffocating scent of expensive, sweet floral perfume hit my nose, completely masking the smell of the night. Seraphina’s perfume. Martinez stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body turning into a solid block of ice beneath me as he stared into the dark, empty house.

He stayed in the car and waited. Holding a bouquet of white roses, Daisy slowly walked through rows of gravestones until she stopped in front of the one tucked away in the farthest corner. The stone bore only Dario's name and the years of his birth and death. In the photograph, he had on a black suit. His distinct features were exactly the same as the first time Daisy had met him. She placed the white roses in front of the gravestone and stood there silently for a long time. Finally, she said softly, "When I said I wouldn't forgive you, I meant it. But I don't hate you anymore either. Rest in peace."

I was instead wearing a pale blue silky nightie. How the heck had I gotten into this tiny nightie? How? How? The material was so thin that I could make out my nipple print. What the heck happened to my bra? I felt this dizzying hotness creep all over me, my stomach heaved once More. I clutched on to the sink tightly for support, as I doubled over. The sink was quiet dusty and doesn't look like it had been used. I inhaled the dust. My breathing became shallow, and I tried to take in air. But my lungs refused to work, I wheezed and wheezed loudly, pleadingly, urging oxygen to fill my lungs.

If he had his way, he'd never see him again. He walked to the bathroom and filled the rose-designed tub with warm water, mixing in a luxurious blend of rosemilk bath powder, honey, jasmine, and vanilla extract. Using his nature magic, he scattered rose petals across the surface, their delicate pink hues floating gently. As he sank into the bath, the soothing aroma enveloped him—a heady mix of sweet vanilla, floral jasmine, and a hint of honey that mingled with the subtle scent of the roses.