Riddle Rosehearts Overblot Novels & Stories

Isobel wrinkled her nose before saying, “Probably all of them, to convince suckers like you that they’re kind and benevolent souls.” I scowled at her moodily, wanting to argue my case. But there wasn’t much to say except, yeah, I was a total idiot sucker who’d gotten taken in by a freaking scammer. I hissed out a huff. “I can’t believe this.” My gaze strayed to the baby rose plants. “I wonder what color they’ll turn out, then? Or if they’re even rose plants.” “Oh, they’re definitely roses,” she assured me. “But your guess is as good as mine on the color.”

He moved out of the way and subsequently opened the drawer. In the drawer were Sylvia’s completed wood carvings. Besides a wooden Rubik’s cube and a wooden crown, there were also a few other things. However, what grabbed Odell’s attention the most was a “red” rose. Each petal on the rose was bright red in color and had obviously been stained with blood! Odell’s expression turned frigid. With the rose in his grip, he asked Sylvia, “Where did the blood on this come from?” Sylvia knit her eyebrows tightly but did not answer.

The quiet of the locker room felt oppressive now, and she could almost hear her own heartbeat in the stillness. With careful fingers, she tore open the envelope, her mind racing with possibilities. What was this? Who would leave something like this for her? Inside, she found a black rose—its petals wilted and fragile, as though it had been picked long ago and left to die. Its deep color seemed to draw all the light from the room, casting an eerie shadow on the paper beneath it. Olivia’s breath hitched as she carefully picked it up, her skin cold as she held it in her palm.

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?”

“Numbers. Dates. Nothing I understood.” “Figures.” He sighed. “Come on, walk with me before you hyperventilate.” *** The corridor lights were dimmed for the night, throwing long shadows along tapestried walls. Alonso matched her steps; his shoulder brushed hers, deliberate. “You don’t strike me as the timid type,” he said. “Because I didn’t faint?” “Because your eyes are on fire.” She blinked. “Allergies.” He chuckled, genuine, warm enough to thaw the winter in her bones. Dangerous warmth.

I looked at her and nodded. I did everything I can do. But in the last part, I stopped. There's a rose on the table. But not an ordinary rose. Because this type of rose has magic in it. Within 1 minute this rose will turn into a monster. It's dangerous not because it can turn into a monster. But it will use your weakness against you before it kills you. "Kill the rose." I heard Drake said. I took a deep breath before stepping closer to it. I held it trembling. As I held on to it some memories entered my mind. Memories I don't want to remember anymore.

A tiny crimson bead of blood welled up on my skin. "Careful," Greg murmured. He had been standing a few feet away, but at the sight of the blood, he stepped closer, his presence immediately grounding. I reached back in, more cautiously this time, and gently lifted the object out by the stem. It was a freshly cut, incredibly thorny rose. The petals, which must have originally been a dark, velvety red, had been carefully spray-painted pitch black. The edge of every single petal had been meticulously lined with a border of sparkling silver glitter.

I stretch my arms over my head and then rub my eyes. My sleepy eyes catch a flash of silk red. A single red rose with sharp thorns and a black bow. To most people, it would be a regular rose...but it wasn't. Something didn't feel right. With shaky hands I lift the rose to my nose and give it a little sniff. I frowned when it was the smell of my perfume. How did he get the scent of my perfume?

I bent to pick up the rose, but Brinsle slapped my hand. “Don’t you dare,” she said. I looked quizzically at her. “It’s probably laden with potion,” she replied hastily. “Every virgin here wants you. Some are not so patient. They want to make sure they’re next, after me. So I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re all trying to seduce you, so you choose them after me.” She stomped on the rose, smooshing its petals into the dirt. Then she glowered at the girl in the tree house.