Lila Rose Author Novels & Stories

The door swung open. A heady cloud of rose perfume flooded through the gap at once, drowning out the faint, warm scent of burning firewood that had filled the room. Lila stood in the doorway, dressed in a brand-new moon-white silk gown, a delicate tray balanced in her hands. On it sat two slices of golden-baked rye bread and a steaming mug of milk. Her face was split into a flawless, sweet smile, her amber eyes brimming with sisterly concern.

It moved farther and farther from the cemetery on the hillside, and farther away from all the love and hatred buried beneath Sicily's soil. Daisy leaned against Caleb's shoulder and looked out the window. The hillsides were covered in blooming irises. The warm breeze never felt better. Her new life had only just begun.

Sike and Nessa were closer to the entrance, like they always were, ready to run if something came. Just a dream. The same dream. The one I had been having for as long as I could remember. I wiped the sweat off my face and tried to slow my breathing. It never got easier. Every time I saw that woman fall, every time I heard that little girl scream, I woke up feeling like I had been the one hit by that arrow. . . . My name is Lila. I am twenty years old, and I have been a rogue my whole life.

envy? "I don't think we've met," she said, her voice sharp. "I'm Lila. I own the Lila Rose fashion houses." I gave her a careful, polite smile. "I'm Scarlett. It's a beautiful event." Lila’s eyes got cool. She looked from the necklace back to my face. I saw a new, wary respect in her look. "Yes," she said, her voice less sharp than before. "It is." She snapped her small purse closed and walked out. She left a smell of expensive perfume behind.

“Very focused on the material. It’s just lessons. Academic. Nothing more.” Lila wasn’t buying it—she leaned even closer, eyes gleaming with insatiable curiosity, voice barely a breath now. “Nothing more? Come on, Rose, don’t lie to me—we’re both omegas here, we know how this world works. You come back looking… wrecked every time. Flushed like you’ve been running for hours. Eyes too bright, like you’re fevered. And that mark on your jaw—” She reached out suddenly as if to touch it gently, fingers hovering inches away.

Slowly, I start to open the envelope, taking the letter out—realising that I've seen this handwriting before in the past which immediately make me realise that this letter is from Elia. Rose, mio amore, How are you? It must be stupid of me to ask but I really hope that you're doing well. If you're still reading this, I'm probably looking at you. As creepy as that sounds, it's actually the truth. There's a lot that I want to tell you but first of all, I want to say sorry for all that I've done. I've caused you so much pain since the very beginning and I'm sorry. Forgive me?

She had seen it earlier but paid no attention to it; if Rosa was talking about it, then maybe it was a big deal, and she should have paid more attention. "Dahlia's are my daughter's favourite flowers, but yet they have refused to bloom, even though I have done all manner of things just to make that happen." "I will research it and make sure your daughter's favourite flowers bloom soon." Lila was moved by the story she had just heard. They moved back in because Rosa commented on how chilly it was for them to stay outside. "I will help you with the meal," Lila volunteered because she suddenly felt the urge to never leave the woman's side and to comfort her as much as she could.

At one point, she'd been my best friend. Lila was a witch. When we first met, she was practicing revival magic on dying flowers in the garden. Even though she looked way younger, I was only a year older, but it never mattered. I wasn't a witch and couldn't do magic, which made everything she did all the more fascinating. I used to sit and watch her bring dead petals back to life. Eventually, she noticed me, smiled, and waved me over.

(Author's POV) Lilith sat on the cold floor with her back resting against the iron bars of her cell. She had cried until no more tears seemed willing to come. Her swollen eyes stared blankly at the opposite wall, yet she wasn't truly seeing it. All she saw... Was Oliver. His smile. His gentle eyes. The way he always called her name as though it was the most beautiful word he'd ever spoken. A sad sob escaped her lips. Her trembling fingers slowly found their way to her stomach.

a voice of resentment was heard. She threw red roses at my immobilized bloodied body, then they fled the scene. As red as the color of the van that sent me off to my death, my innocent blood flew to the ground. Add up the petals of the red roses that floated and danced on my yet, flesh blood. Shocked, devastated, betrayed, I mumbled just one word before seeing the dark, “Why?”