Rotten Roses Novels & Stories

REJECTED Rose's parents gave him deaf ears because the more he apologized, the angrier they got. It was hard for them to behold his presence as it made them imagine his guts for still apologizing after causing the demise of their daughter. Rose's father, Mr. Gabriel almost strangled him to death but was held back by his wife.

Sean said before he made a rose appear seemingly from thin air, “A beautiful rose for the even more beautiful Claudia.” At those words Claudia’s expression darkened and she stood up causing her black gown to swirl around her matching the stormy look in her eyes. “What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?” he said while wondering why Claudia wasn’t teasing him about being corny like she normally would. At that Claudia looked at him and took the rose from his hand but said as she pricked her finger with a thorn, “Yes, a rose is beautiful, but it is dangerous due to its thorns. Like the rose, I may be beautiful, but I am a predator of the night. A monster wrapped in a pretty skin.” As she finish

They seemed to express that I didn't want him anymore. Facing 50 acres of land, Jeffrey finally realized that I, like these departed roses, would not return. The roses had been given to another woman by him casually, and its owner would not return because of himself. I would no longer plant flowers for him. He would never see me holding roses and asking him, "The roses are ripe. When are we going to get married?" He realized that roses had feelings too. I was willing to be trapped in a greenhouse by him because of my love for him.

The waitress respectfully led the way as Sophie entered the restaurant, guiding her through its large but winding aisles, adding a touch of retro serenity. As Sophie followed, she caught a faint whiff of floral scents—not overpowering, but strangely familiar: the scent of roses. In place of seats, a large space was left empty, filled instead with pink and burgundy red multiflora roses. Sophie's eyes met an ocean of roses, captivated by layers upon layers of petals in her two favorite colors. Cedric stood tall on the other side of a bouquet. His upright figure and strikingly handsome face appeared flawless against the backdrop of blossoms, causing Sophie's breath to catch in her throat.

I saw Rosa cautiously circling the corpses with deep concentration, her brows tightly knitted together. “Can you find out anything?” I asked her. She nodded, glanced at me before paying attention to the corpses again, and replied, “The scars on the bodies gave off the stench.” “But they’ve been preserved.” I was puzzled. “Yes,” she nodded again and grimaced. “Preserved corpses don’t give off any smell unless it is a dark smell.” “A dark smell?” Max asked in a cold voice. “It could be done by the wolf or some other beast who carried a dark magic power,” Rosa replied to him, and her frown deepened.

The house in France is smaller than I expected. Stone walls, blue shutters, a garden full of roses. Patricia's roses. The same roses that were in my mother's photograph, the one where she stands smiling in a white dress, holding a bouquet. The same roses that Patricia left on my doorstep, tied with black ribbon. The same roses that marked every threat, every warning, every promise. The same roses that grew in the garden where my mother posed, unaware that the woman behind the camera was planning her death. The roses have grown wild since Patricia died, sprawling over the stone paths, climbing the walls, choking the other flowers.

And as Martinez stepped into the dark foyer, the heavy, suffocating scent of expensive, sweet floral perfume hit my nose, completely masking the smell of the night. Seraphina’s perfume. Martinez stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body turning into a solid block of ice beneath me as he stared into the dark, empty house.

My shaking arm pushed forward, fingertips edging out, reaching, pulling at nothing. Fingers grazed the wet, soft flower surface. The thing within was grabbed fast, then came the loud snap of the window closing - my pulse racing hard. A cold weight sat in my hand - just one rose, long past bloom. Broken off too low, the stalk showed raw fibers where it split. Edges of each petal had darkened, folding inward like shriveled legs of an insect left too long in sun. The smell hit slow: rot first, then underneath, that sharp tang of citrus someone used to wear.

Roxanne amusingly grinned as she felt the difference between the roses and the other roses everyone knew about. “Why?” Sonia wondered. “These roses belonged to the Escoffier. It was a medicine and a protection, but it could be a poison if misused or mistreated.” Roxanne answered as she gently touched the rose, which almost made some servants stop her, but realizing it was my wife, they respectfully bowed—they knew Roxanne’s connection to them. “I see. Shall we add a stone tablet explaining the unique features of the roses here?” I suggested, catching their attention, and I shrugged my shoulders.

If, after everything, it turns out she’d mistaken me for someone else and I’m not the woman she’s after, I’m going to be really fucking pissed. I search for the meaning of dead roses online and see that it signifies the end of something. In some cases, it signifies lost love, heartbreak, or mourning. By the time I’m done reading, I’m convinced the roses are a sort of bad omen. I feel jittery for the remainder of the day and as I work, I count down the hours until I leave so that I can show Carter the box. I consider texting him but he’s going to speed down here and I’m not going to be able to get any work done anymore because this will be the only thing on my mind.