He Who Wants A Rose Must Respect The Thorn Novels & Stories

The flowers are of every kind and the willow tree is dancing with the wind, it’s really beautiful. Now that I have aborted my stupidity, I strode toward the plants where roses are growing and start to pluck one but Cary stops me with his hand clutching mine. “It’s filled with thorn Thia, careful,” Cary says smiling at me and plucks the rose himself. He gives it to me and I take it and smile at him feeling thankful. I open my mouth to thank him with words but before I could even utter a word, Cary is no longer standing in front of me.

He put it on the back seat and glanced at the light through the window. He put his hand on the wheel. It suddenly tingled. His brow furrowed as he opened his left hand. There were rose thorns between his index and middle fingers. They must have gone into his palm when he broke the roses. He blandly removed them, humming happily, and then started the car to leave. The red rose was the symbol of passionate and loyal love. So how could he let the roses just stay there?

It snuck under the hem of Holly's clothes, starting to explore every piece of her. With a familiarity that came with practice, he began to undo the clasps of Holly's undergarments. A shadow of desire flickered in Luke's dark eyes, his throat involuntarily gulped. He was oblivious to the resistance in Holly's eyes as he leaned in to whisper against her ear. "Holly, I want you so bad." A wave of nausea hit Holly. She could not remember when she started to feel so repelled by Luke's advances. She firmly stopped Luke's intrusive hand, took a deep breath, and fought back the impulse to slap him.

He closed the door when I was in, bending down so we were eye level. “And because they’re delicate,” he answered, still on the topic of roses, “but they've got thorns. Just like someone I know.” He walked around and got into the car, but I still stared at where he had just stood. Delicate but with thorns… “Is that how you see me?” I asked softly, still looking out the window.

Ethan said softly, leaning in close enough to create an intimate atmosphere. "Um..." Jasmine looked down, attempting to remove the thorns from the roses. "Red roses endure wind and harshness better than white ones," Ethan explained, gently taking the rose from her. "Thorns are inherent to roses; their prickliness isn't a flaw." Meeting Ethan's gaze, Jasmine's eyes flickered with a mixture of emotions. With a sigh, Ethan leaned in, pressing his lips against hers. He loathed those vile bullies who tormented Jasmine, leaving her in a defensive and wounded state; he understood that it took considerable patience and tender care to mend her heart.

yeah, I didn’t even need to finish that thought before I began walking. As I passed by the field, my hand flew to the rose that still rested on my chest, and I peeled it off, letting it drop to the dirt floor. All the talk about wanting to be loved was garbage. I didn’t need anyone's validation or acceptance at this point. I was past that. I only chose the rose because of the thorns, and how its beauty was a perfect disguise for that dangerous part of it.

He raised his head to look at her, like he was surprised to see her there. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” She’d asked as she tried to pry open his fist. He’d let her, opened it up easily and let her take the rose from his now bloody palm, the flower fell to the floor. “Shit!” She exclaimed as pulled up the hem of her oversized t-shirt and proceeded to clean the blood from his palm. “Are you insane?” she whipped her head up to look at him “Why would you hold a rose that way, didn’t you ever learn that you have to avoid the thorns?”

The thought of hosting Juliet’s spy is threatening to pull out my beastly capabilities. “When you can’t find the thorn in the midst of roses. You’ll strip the flowers off their petals...” I announced turning my attention to Klaus as I added “If it’s real, it’ll grow again. Otherwise, it’ll be rooted out”. I declared earning a comprehended nod from Klaus as we made our way to headquarters.

“That’s a big job you got there. You’re taking care of the garden, huh?” Rose nods hard, curls bouncing. “Mommy say plants drink water.” “They do,” I agree, brushing a stray lock of hair that escaped from her piggies away from her forehead. “But you gotta watch out for these.” I point to the thorns, hidden beneath the leaves. “These are thorns if you’re not careful they can prick you.” Rose looks up at me, wide-eyed. “Prick?” I nod, tapping one of the thorny stems lightly. “See these? They’re sharp. You have to be gentle.”

They seemed to express that I didn't want him anymore. Facing 50 acres of land, Jeffrey finally realized that I, like these departed roses, would not return. The roses had been given to another woman by him casually, and its owner would not return because of himself. I would no longer plant flowers for him. He would never see me holding roses and asking him, "The roses are ripe. When are we going to get married?" He realized that roses had feelings too. I was willing to be trapped in a greenhouse by him because of my love for him.