Rwby Scarlet Novels & Stories

Whispering that Scarlet was mine. Even if I’d pushed her away. “Just do it, Jasper,” I snapped, turning back to my whiskey. Scarlet’s POV The next morning, I was discharged from the hospital. My body was still weak, but healing. Lady Rosa met me at the door, her face cold. “You’re back to work, Scarlet. No more fainting spells, or you’ll regret it.” I nodded, swallowing my anger. What was the point? I was still a slave. Still at the mercy of this pack.

Scarlet thought. I went to the bathroom and took a bath. After taking a bath, I got dressed, wore my eyeglasses and blow dried my hair. I was looking at herself in front of the mirror as I tied my hair up to a messy bun. I am so lazy to fix this bun, I am always ugly and I can’t even understand why Dimitri thinks I am beautiful. The make up in the bar was so amazing though. It felt like it was not me. Yes, it was not me. It was Scarlet Heart. I am Hearcille Reina, the plain jane.

, I came out of my car and I wasn’t surprised when Scarlett came out wearing a long face. “You bitch!” She said as she walked towards me. “Can we do this later, I got work. Thank you” I said dryly and made to enter my car but she was fast to touch me by my hand. I quickly removed her hand from my body like it was a plague and looked at her angrily. “Never in your life, I repeat, never touch me with that hand you uses to give my dad a hand job” Scarlett looked pretty embarrassed as I said that but she was quick to cover it up with a scoff.

I added. "Yes," She said with no emotion to her tone. "I am sorry about that, Scar, but it had to be done," I said. "It had to be done! Are you serious?" Scarlett was getting angry now. "Look, I've apologised; let's just move on, ok!" I said with a stern tone to my voice. OH, I do like it when Scarlett gets all angry. It makes her so sexy. She just sat there looking at me and didn't say a word.

I open the attachment. I am at a loss for words at with, I see. It's Amelie passed out being carried by Matt. He has slightly pulled back the collar of her shirt, showing a black and bloody scar where her Mate Mark was. This is what a Scarred One looks like. I am horrified that she had to go through that. I'm pissed Matt is holding her. I shouldn't be, but I am. I stop for a second and re-read his report. I look at the time she completed the ritual, around midnight. Her wolf was harmed in the process, and she was bleeding and injured. It was all the things Rose and Daisy said. I closed the attachment and sat back in my chair.

"How dare you scare me like that?" Agnes has her chin on his shoulder. Hearing him say those words, without knowing whether it was true or not, she bit her lips again and closed her eyes tightly. It's him. It's Leon. — CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A Cold Dark Scary Place — In a dark, still and quiet room, a lone body of a female human was lying on the damp floor. On her forehead, there was a trail of blood that dried over time. Her face was pale, and if you can't see her chest going up and down, you would mistake her as dead.

Ann waited for her to leave before scurrying through her morning plan, she made sure to apply some soothing balm under her eyes before rushing to the green salon. Lady Arnold was sitting on one of the blue seats. Ann had always wondered why the room had not been named a blue salon. Nearly everything in the room was blue and the only green she could find was the leaf of a flower that Lady Arnold perhaps planted. “ Your grace,” Ann let out, gaining her attention. “ We should be on our way, I'm sure Ravenscroft must have readied the mares,” she announced standing up. “ Are we riding them?” Ann inquired.

I was entertainment. I moved between the tables, gathering plates with trembling hands while conversations danced around me. Their whispers followed like hungry wolves. “Look at those arms. Like tree trunks.” “Margaret said she found food hidden in her room again.” “Disgusting. No wonder she can’t shift—what wolf would want that body?” My cheeks burned, but I kept loading the tray. Glass and plate clinked against the tray, and the sound produced covered most of their comments. “Careful with those,” Marcus called from across the room where he was busy entertaining a group of unmated females. “We all remember what happened to Mother’s antique vase.”

Michael’s presence is becoming a distant memory, and I’m growing into a woman I can be proud of. --- As I read Scarlet’s entries, I’m struck by how similar our journeys are. We’ve both faced painful relationships and made mistakes, but we’ve also shown incredible resilience and growth. Scarlet’s transformation is inspiring. She’s evolved from a victim to a woman reclaiming her power, and I find myself admiring her. It’s as if we share an unspoken bond, a mutual understanding of pain and recovery. I’m proud of her—proud of how far she’s come and the strength she’s found within herself. In many ways, her journey mirrors my own, and that realization brings me a sense of solidarity and hope.

She looked pleased with herself, as if seeing me vulnerable gave her the power she craved. “I’m not hiding,” I said quietly, refusing to look at her. “I just needed a moment.” Scarlet sauntered closer, her heels clicking loudly against the floor. “A moment? Or maybe you’re realizing that you’re out of your league here. And you winning isn’t really fair. Fame isn't for people like you, darling.” I finally turned to face her, my anger simmering just below the surface. “What do you want now, Scarlet?” Her grin widened as she reached into her clutch, pulling out a small bottle of what looked like… ink? I barely had time to register what it was before she flicked the bottle open with a malicious