Spike Rosered Novels & Stories

As I put one of my feet inside of the warm and welcoming water filled with the petals of the beloved and most beautiful rose. I sometimes wonder why it has so much love being given to it. It is so imperfect, yet that is its perfection just like all of us--We are perfect and one because of the imperfections of us. I also wonder why a rose just steals my heart every time I look at it--it's just so magnificent. Is it because of the color that it possesses or because of the way it possesses the frail heart of mine? So melted in my thoughts that I was, I didn't realize that I had to get out of the bath to get ready.

It takes my whole day to know who is she? I search about her and her family and know that her name is a Rose and her brother also killed by Evil and then she became mad and went into a mental hospital then she escapes from this hospital and now she is in my mansion, there is no doubt that she is mental now and dirty also. But I’ll recover her soon as possible, I’ll try my best to recover her and spend my whole life with her. I plan everything and take many black roses about 500 and separate their petals then spread all these petals into the room and a red rose, which is in reality a magic rose in which a fairy was in imprisonment, also hide here. I wait every second for her that when she com

A red rose is not selfish because it wants to be a red rose. ✾ “Your arm?” I blink reluctantly at the woman in front of me. Biting my bottom lip, I slowly raise my hand and show her my wrist. She grabs onto it, pulling it towards her. She smiles at me, or I think she does, the only part of her that I could see either way was her lips, the bottom part of her nose, and everything below her ankles. Then she pulls a small sharp pen from her pocket, stabs it on my wrist, making me flinch. The pen starts turning red, and just like that she had taken some of my blood.

Each place setting is meticulously arranged, with fine porcelain plates and glistening silverware, shimmering under the soft glow of the candlelight. As the candle flames flicker, casting a warm and intimate glow, a centerpiece of vibrant red roses takes center stage. The roses are carefully arranged, their petals unfurling gracefully, radiating a passionate allure. They are nestled in a crystal vase, their fragrance filling the air and weaving a tapestry of romance that envelops the room.

City A, 15 years ago, in a dilapidated house, the firelight was slowly spearing to every corner. The fire made a crackling, crackling, ticking sound that echoed in the stillness of the night. Suddenly, the fire flared up violently. It engulfed everything it passed through. In that deadly fire, the image of a rose playing in the sea of ​​​​fire slowly appeared. It shone extremely brightly and then began to fade to ashes. That rose was like his heart. Since that day, his heart had died, left only the animosity.

Not with us yelling so our voice could cover the insane crowd noise. With a quick scan at the guy, black jersey like the black and gold player’s jersey, ripped-muscled legs and arms, I realized he is the footballer I claimed I recognized. He is Balorz, David’s friend. “You are Balorz,” I said. No way I could twist this around. “I am Balorz,” he confirmed, smiling. “Sorry. I should have been honest with you. I just don’t want to sound like a novice.” “No, it’s alright. I like you. You’re funny.”

Rose then after talking to her parents and introduced them to Alex, opened the wine bottle, poured it in the glass, sprinkle some wine on the graves, and has a sip. After wine, she took out a bunch of red roses from the carry bag and started decorating it on both of her parents’ graves. “Rose you brought rose flowers then chrysanthemum?” “My parents love red roses, especially my mom. She was very fond of red color, and red roses are her favorite. In fact, I inherit her most of fondness and habits, therefore, I also love the red color and red roses the most.” RED ROSES…….. RED ROSES……..

sʜᴇ IS ʀᴏsᴇ, ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ʙᴇᴀsᴛ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ

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 didn’t ask more questions and trusted Trevor completely. After a few minutes, we stepped into a clearing bathed in soft morning light. My breath hitched as I took in the sight before me. A field of red roses stretched out like a sea of crimson, but these weren’t ordinary roses. Each delicate petal had silver markings, shimmering softly under the sunlight, as if kissed by moonlight itself. I gasped. “Trevor… these are…” “The legendary red roses of Silver Rose Pack. The locals called it Silvermarked Roses,” he said gently.