Rosalina Drawing Novels & Stories

'' She replies, lightly running her hand at Elis's back. A couple of hours later, I am left staring at the glass window near the back—only watching flowers blossoming beautifully. My lips curve up into a small smile, realising that there's a lot of roses here other than different flowers. To my surprise, I find Fiore standing a few feet from me as she watches the roses, ''They are Elia's favourite.'' She says, breaking the silence. ''Especially orange coloured roses,'' She adds. Roses. Is it a coincident?

The note was addressed to me. Rosemary, About three decades ago, Andromeda discovered that Cephalus, our brother, had fallen in love with a wolf named Lillian. She belonged to the Crimson Rose pack and was destined to marry their Alpha. Andromeda used this to her advantage, as she needed a hybrid for her plans. To achieve her twisted goals, she killed Astraea, our youngest and Cephalus’s most beloved sister, and took her place using a powerful glamour spell. Cephalus trusted Astraea more than anyone, so he didn’t see through the deception. Andromeda manipulated Cephalus’s mind, twisting his thoughts and controlling his actions. Under her influence, he kidnapped Lillian. Your mother.

Then she opened it and held it up. She had drawn the room. All of it. Every person in their position from the moment she had arrived, rendered in precise, unsentimental lines. Claire by the window. Rosa in the doorway. Elena at the counter. Damian on the balcony. Lila at the table. Noah on the couch. Mia between them. The old man in his chair. And in the corner of the page, small and slightly separate from the others, a figure that was clearly herself. Holding a sketchbook. Watching everything.

Rosalina cut Karass off, already knowing what he intended to say. "Forgive my boldness, princess. But may I ask what kind of punishment will your highness dare to take?" Karras asked with his brows furrowed in curiosity. Rosalina rose from her seat. With her arms locked behind her back, she moved to the edge of the stairs. She stood with her face held high, although she was looking at Karras, who was literally standing in a lower place than she was.

It was a vibrant springtime scene. Amidst a sea of bright, colorful flowers stood a woman in white, her body turned slightly. She held a branch of crabapple blossoms, seemingly about to inhale its fragrance, but was caught mid-turn, responding to someone calling her. The painting captured this delicate moment of warmth and beauty. Her eyes and brows held a gentle smile, her gaze soft and serene. She stood among the dazzling flowers like a lotus rising from the water—graceful and elegant. Gazing at the scroll, the king’s expression finally softened. “So, Miranda’s appearance resembles her mother, and all of this is merely a coincidence. Wait, Miranda…”

My instincts urged me to hurry to Riza's room, and I acted on that impulse. I pushed the door open, feeling a familiar wave of sorrow as I gazed into her empty room. I sank to the floor, and as I began to sob again, something drew my attention. Beneath her bed, I saw a collection of drawing papers. I crawled toward them, my sobs intensifying as I beheld her exquisite watercolor artwork. It depicted our house surrounded by a garden of yellow roses. As I examined the remaining watercolor paintings, my longing for Riza deepened with each passing moment. Tears flowed more freely as I looked at her paintings one by one.

“isn’t that too-“ Martelli cleared his throat, so that she stopped her sentence half way. “Well, we will need something more assuring.” Rosaline said. She was bent on making her point in any way possible. “Something like?” Martelli shifted his focus to Rosaline as he asked. Rosaline mouthed as if trying to say something, and then became calm. Martelli was obviously holding himself back from exploding. You could see it in his eyes when he glanced at Rosaline that he was not a fan of hers.

Today, with my left arm bound tightly in a black canvas sling, the room just felt quiet. The door clicked open, and Rosalina stepped inside. She had changed into a simple, light blue sundress, and her dark hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. She looked so innocent standing in a room filled with old books, heavy mahogany furniture, and secrets that could start wars. "You're supposed to be resting," she said, walking over to the desk. Her voice was scolding, but her eyes were full of gentle concern. "I rested enough," I said, watching her closely. "Sit."

ROSALINA'S POV As I sat in front of my vanity mirror, I could feel the soft touch of the makeup brushes against my face. The heavenly scent of my favorite rose-scented foundation filled the air around me, mingling with the faint aroma of the lavender-scented candles that adorned my room. I took a deep breath, attempting to ease my troubled mind before breaking the news to my cousins. Elizabetta, always the studious one, was at my desk, engrossed in her books. Her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she furrowed her brows in concentration. Isabella, on the other hand, sat on the bed, texting someone on her phone, completely oblivious to the world around her and Lily was busy painting

The plaque drawn three times from slightly different distances. She went through all twelve without speaking. Rosie watched her. At the consideration. At the way Isla looked at each one. Not like an adult looking at a child’s drawings. Like someone looking at drawings. Like someone encountering work. She got to the last one. The interior. The wall. The one Rosie had drawn last month after studying the photographs most carefully. The light hitting the wall exactly as it was hitting it right now. Isla looked at the drawing. Looked at the wall.