Ghost Roses Novels & Stories

Cia immediately turned to see the roses and asphodel planted alternately. Zeno scratched his head that didn't itch, huh... that's because when he bought a large number of asphodel flowers, the florist asked him, is he commemorating someone's death? At that time Zeno didn't understand, but the florist kindly explained the meaning of the gray-white asphodel flower. So, Zeno took the initiative to plant red roses which is the meaning of love. "The asphodel flower has the meaning of death," Zeno finally said.

As the front panel fell forward with a heavy thud, the entire lobby gasped. Inside the crate was an impossibly large floral arrangement. It wasn't just a standard bouquet. It was a giant, towering wall of thousands of rare black roses and blood-red orchids. The deep, heavy scent of perfume immediately filled the air, completely wiping out the normal smell of floor polish and air conditioning. Tied to the center of the display was a thick, black silk ribbon. Written on the ribbon in bold gold letters were the words: For Noah. My Only Shield.

Adam lamented. “I’m just wondering if maybe we should get him inside and bolt the door. This might not be the safest place for him after all. She’s getting a might closer and some of those zombie spirits look like they’re coming back to life in a not too friendly way.” He studied the spirits who were once so animated but were now acting dazed and confused. A few of them were losing that dazed look. It was being replaced by one of intelligence and… Anger? Hate? He couldn’t tell.

"Good evening, dear. How can I assist you today?" Magdalena returned the smile and approached the counter. "I'd like to purchase a bouquet of red roses, please. A dozen of them." The florist nodded and began selecting the roses, her hands moving with practiced grace. "Red roses are always a classic choice. Are they for a special occasion?" Magdalena's gaze softened as she thought of her husband and daughter. "Yes, indeed. I'll be placing them on my husband and daughter's graves." The florist paused in her arrangement, her eyes filled with empathy. "I'm so sorry for your loss. These roses will carry your love to them."

“That is all I ask.” The tombs lay on the far side of the pack grounds, an ancient stretch of marble and stone where the Grayson lineage was buried. I carried no roses, no lilies, only a bouquet of wildflowers that I had plucked along the path. My mother had loved them. They were simple, untamed and growing free where they willed. Just like her spirit. Just like the spirit I had been told was cursed, when in truth, it was only chained. The air was crisp, almost too clean, carrying the faint fragrance of pine. My steps slowed when the carved archway came into view. The place looked older than time itself, weathered by storms and seasons, yet there was an unshakable strength in the stone.

When they finally moved away. Either clan with Rosa moved forward. Rosa placed a bouquet of lilies on the casket. I placed my flowers. Felicia and Harry got white carnations. They placed it on the glass separating the body from us. It remained only me and Vivian. The others stepped back while they waited back. Vivian bought out a bouquet of dark crimson roses on top of the grave. She was fighting the tears that were threatening to fall. Her eyes were red and I saw her swallow down the spit.

Her features were hidden, yet Marisol knew it was Elizabeth. It was another portrait of Kyro's hollow devotion. If he'd loved her so, why had Elizabeth suffered so much? Marisol took some black and red paint, blending them into a deep, bruised hue. Dipping a brush into it, she painted a crimson-black rose across the veil. The once divine scene curdled into something sinister in an instant. From beside her, Kyro chuckled. "I knew you'd like those roses. The research lab spent a long time cultivating the perfect crimson-black roses. I had them grown just for you. We'll have them at our wedding. What do you think?"

They were black—deep, obsidian petals that looked like they had been dipped in ink. Calla Lilies. The flowers of revenge. Kael dropped to his knees, ignoring the mud soaking into his designer trousers. He snatched the bouquet, the stems crushing in his iron grip. There was no card. No name. Only the faint, lingering scent of something that didn't belong in a graveyard. Roses. And gunpowder. "She was here," Kael whispered, his eyes wide and frantic. "Alpha, no one has been through the gates," Marcus countered, stepping forward cautiously. "The guards reported no visitors. It was likely a delivery—"

The realization that I was dead and would never again sit with everyone I loved overwhelmed me, and I began to weep uncontrollably. “Clara…” I turned in surprise at the sound of Lucas’s voice. I watched as he approached, a vibrant bouquet of red roses cradled in his arms. I stood frozen as he placed the flowers atop my gravestone. He sighed quietly. For a moment, I feared he could see me. His eyes were red and swollen, bloodshot with exhaustion. Stubble lined his jaw, and no emotion appeared in his gaze. I glanced at the bouquet and laughed softly. “Who brings red roses to a funeral, Lucas? I honestly don’t know what to say to you.”

Her eyes had grown hollow, her movements slower, her voice softer—like a ghost trying to find its place among the living. “Are you okay?” I asked gently, not wanting to startle her. She didn’t look at me. “Yes. Why are you asking?” “I just want to be sure you are… really okay.” “I am,” she replied too quickly, then looked down at the flowers in her hands. “Do you think hibiscus is too strange for a grave?” I tilted my head. “I don’t think the type of flower matters, Anna.” “Maybe I should’ve brought a white rose. It signifies peace. Or a red one—love.” Her fingers trembled as she rearranged the bouquet on her lap. “I don’t know.”