Ragna Crimson Wallpaper Novels & Stories

The Crimson House was like stepping into a world Yasmin couldn’t have dreamed of. The entrance hall stretched on and on, its high, vaulted ceilings carved with images of wolves, stars, and ancient vines that twisted together in a mesmerizing pattern. Sunlight poured through enormous windows, casting a golden light across polished marble floors, and art lined the walls—paintings that told stories of the pack’s history, legends of battles, and serene landscapes of the northern forests. Portraits of former Alphas watched over the space, their faces resolute, capturing centuries of legacy and strength.

The bedroom screamed of luxury and masculinity, every detail carefully curated to embody Alpha Galan's unique taste. "Wow!" A gasps escaped my lips as I instinctively used my hand to cover my mouth. The walls were adorned with sleek, black paneling, contrasted by vibrant crimson accents. A large, ornate canopy bed stood as the centerpiece, draped in flowing silk curtains that cascaded like bloodred waterfalls. My gaze trailed along the room, taking in the plush velvet armchairs, the polished mahogany furniture, and the custom-made art pieces that adorned the walls. Alpha Galan's red eyes shone in the dimly lit room, reflecting the surprised that danced across my face. Hi gaze was fixed on my

Celina swallowed the lump in her throat and followed the driver. As soon as they stepped inside another room, she surveyed around. The crimson striped wallpaper covered all the walls, matching darker red curtains on the room's windows. All the drapes were halfway opened, only allowing the cabinet to be basked in sunlight. The polished wooden desk was particularly shining as it was placed by the window. There was a carpet set in the middle of the room, with two wooden armchairs and a small oval table. Even the golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling had a touch of red.

The walls were painted a deep, velvety red that seemed to pulse in the low light. Dominating the center of the room was a bed adorned with soft, delicate lace. Its canopy, draped in deep crimson fabric, flowed from the ceiling like a waterfall of satin. The bed, though soft in appearance, seemed starkly functional, ready for whatever might unfold. The sheets were smooth and dark, contrasting with the lighter lace trim that hinted at both romance and restraint.

The room was heavily ornamented with black-out curtains of black and red colors. Rozelyn realized that a human-size mirror was on her side when she heard the slamming of the door caused by Cyrill’s wind abilities. The room was not that small, but not huge either. A crimson couch was situated a few inches away to her right, to where the mirror was erected. Cyrill grabbed her hair, making Rozelyn come in contact with his electric blue eyes—the eyes that she was yearning to look at for eternity. The eyes that were the color of the crystal cool waters of the French Riviera.

Crimson light spilled out. The room breathed sin—walls painted blood-red, black leather restraints glinting on a St. Andrew’s cross, silk ropes coiled like serpents. A massive bed dominated the center, draped in scarlet. Mirrors lined the ceiling. Every surface screamed control, surrender, ecstasy. I flung her inside. She stumbled, caught herself on the edge of the bed. Whirled, hair wild, chest heaving. The nightgown had ridden up, exposing thighs I wanted wrapped around my waist.

Every time he walked into the room it was as if his soul was renewed. The wall was painted in the shade of scarlett, a symbol of love and passion, the floor was carpeted in a similar burgundy shade and there was a queen sized bed with clean white sheet and red weighted blanket covering the half middle part of it. From the first glance it appeared like a completely normal room, but when one looked closely they would find that the entire wall was adorned with picture frames containing none other but Vian’s face in them. Some were her pictures from during her college days, some were her more recent pictures he was able to take from the media and from the people around her who were naïve enough

These people expected me to act a certain way, and anything less would result in my being kicked out in the cold. The Madam led me down a long hallway lined with more unsettling portraits. Their shrewd eyes seemed to follow our every move, judging as if they knew why I was here. The wallpaper beneath caught my eye and I tried not to frown at the wilted roses, so decayed the red hues were now a deep shade of rust brown. “Who on earth would want that as their wallpaper?” Ziva commented, and I couldn’t help but agree.

Her frames stylishly placed on the walls and on her bedside was a replaced frame of she and Josie. On the other side of the walls was a huge pastel pink colored wallpaper with the caption: 𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒍𝒚_𝒕𝒆𝒒𝒔 which had fancy lights draping all over it. The curtains were a mix of peach and gray and the fluffy rug by the bed was a shade of light green coupled along the throw pillows all over the bed which were red hued, giving it a tropical look and an ombre effect.

The stench of cordite and copper ink still clung to the silk wall coverings of the grand salon, but the blood had been sanitized. Two junior enforcers had scrubbed the parquet floor with industrial bleach, leaving a pale, chemical halo where Enzo Vanni’s head had rested less than twenty minutes ago. Outside, the pre-dawn sky had bruised into a dark, suffocating purple, the storm over Lake Como slowly exhausting its kinetic fury into a thick, low-hanging fog.