Rotten Apples Book Novels & Stories

“They were out too far…for a reason. “Rodin says. Slowly, Rodin lifts his fingertips from the puddle. The blood drips back into the pool. The blood is thick almost like sludge and smells like rotten meat when it's cooked. Rodin flings the blood on the teal grass which cleans the shine on his armor. Rodin stands and he starts to walk to the tent with the flag. Varick looks over the pile. On his side is a satchel, he reaches in this compartment to pull out a book. The book’s title: “Book of The Blight.” Carefully, he sets his wolf helm down on a clean spot among the forest. The plate head sparks with pink electricity, causing the headpiece to slightly hover along with the grassy blade tips. Va

"Rotten? How is this possible? They died yesterday or am I wrong?" Sumon turned her head towards him, looking at his profile, while Nathan stared at an undefined point in front of him and drank. The apple that came down, while he swallowed the wine. "It's the same thing I asked for when I got there. But then one of the farmers opened one of the beasts, showing me what really frightened him. As soon as he opened the meat, a dark, thick liquid poured out of it, releasing a disgusting smell. Half of my stash started vomiting just with the smell." He inhaled deeply as if his nostrils were still filled with that smell, as if he could feel it even in the room. "The exterior was normal, but the int

Caraline was bemused. "But at least with the money I earned, I was able to buy a few pieces of clothes and some delicious food on the side of the road. To be honest, the apples in your orchard aren't very sweet. I even had to check three times in the morning, afternoon, and evening. The flavor hasn't changed at all." Caraline frowned and said sarcastically, "You're right. Besides the apple orchard, I have a new pet to take care of now."

I tried to dodge, and it's not time for Gerald to know all this. "Until there, it's all rotten." "Ah ... I want apples from Germany." I'm begging. Damn, I got real cravings. After this, I was forced to open the refrigerator to get fresh fruit. "It's about to enter autumn. The tree is dead." "You said a lot of apples." "That's in the summer, dear." "Okay, but Rara wants to eat a real apple." "Just buy it." "Okay." "Don't continue to cry. Please pray and support Gerald, I hope it will finish quickly, and we will come back together."

This fucking Demigod looked like he had just walked out of a magazine. I had always wondered how he'd look while naked. Sorry, us. And here we were, clothes ripped off and ready for sin. “You'd be my stepsister in a few weeks, don't you care?” I shook my head quickly, almost like cutting him off. “No, I don't.” “This is forbidden.” He pressed a smirk on his lips. He wasn't just interrogating me, he wanted to know the level of my desperation—how eager I was for this. “Rotten Fruit tastes sweetest,” I mentioned, grinning like an idiot. “Soren, now I don't care about fucking taboos.”

Light moved through the trees in the slow way it did at this hour, and the institute beyond the hedges was its usual hum of distant doors and footsteps. "Two more pages," I said, "then it's time to go in." Maple held up the apple. "I'm not finished." "You can finish inside." He looked at the apple, calculated, and took an enormous bite in protest, and Rosy sighed in the way she sighed at him sometimes. Amber read the last two pages as Maple finished the apple. Rosy asked a question about why the fox in the story hadn't told the truth earlier, when it would have been easier, and I said sometimes people wait until they're ready and sometimes they wait too long.

"But I will." The orchard seems to approve of my promise. The fireflies swirl more intensely, their patterns shifting into brief configurations that almost form words before dissolving again. Above me, apples hang heavy from laden branches, each fruit containing a subtle glow visible only through my amber eye. I pluck one, surprised by how warm it feels against my palm. When I bring it to my nose, the scent is more complex than any apple I've ever encountered—sweetness layered with spice and something that reminds me of lightning strikes. I don't dare bite into it, not yet, but I slip it into my pocket like a talisman.

He made for the shelf, pulling out a red book with intricate gold designs on the letterings. “The Alpha's dreams can't be just that,” he muttered, swiping through the pages of the book. “They have to mean something.” He sighed again. “What could it be?” He paced about the room, his feet shuffling across the well-polished, hard, marble floor. He grabbed an apple from the fruit basket at the corner of the table and bit into it with a crunch humming a tune. The tune caught in his throat. An itchy, crawling feeling passed under his skin. He coughed. His hands clawed against his neck as a burning sensation grazed his throat. His mouth felt dry like the sands of a parched desert.

I looked up at her to hear her words. "Bright-looking apples are often rotten inside, but only after you have been deceived by their plumpness and you have sunk your teeth into them. Not everyone is always as they seem. Be careful." Those were the words she left me with as she walked out of the room, leaving me with a headache and a muddled mind.

I went straight for the sink, fumbled for a glass, filled it with cold water. I drank it leaning against the counter, looking out the black window at my own reflection: a pale, ghostly woman alone in the night. The water was good. It grounded me. This was just a kitchen. I was just getting a drink. A normal thing. Then my eyes adjusted, and I saw it. On the kitchen table, left casually in the center, was a single, green apple. My breath hitched. Luca eats green apples. Always has. He’ll slice one thin at breakfast while Franklin butters his toast. It’s his thing. But this wasn’t from breakfast. This was placed deliberately and not quite long ago.