The Black Rose Novels & Stories

I brushed my thumb over the petal and explained, “Why black rose? I want to know.” His eyes were fixated on the rose in my hand as he swallowed before opening his mouth, “Because nothing depicts me better than a black rose. The black rose is a symbolic flower with multiple meanings and interpretations. It represents intensity, darkness, passion, rebellion, and dominance, all of which resonate with my personality. A black rose is also a symbol of mystery, unknown, and unrequited feelings, which perfectly portrays whatever is between us.”

Moreover who listens to best friend until and unless some problem arises. Putting a full stop to my thinking, I went inside the washroom, washed up and did my morning routine.... I didn't put any makeup for obvious reasons, as i have surgeries to do and just went with a light cream and a lipstick of light pink shade.... It's actually one of my favourites... Although pink is not the colour I prefer as I am not a pink person... Well, I am black person... Let's leave as soon as possible otherwise I would be late... I went out not before locking my house and tried to look for a cab or rickshaw...

Just an older man with silver hair and eyes like oil; slick, dark, unreadable. They called him consigliere. Advisor. Manipulator. He smiled at her like he knew everything. Including why she was here. She avoided him for the rest of the day. But that night, as she cleaned the study, she found something. A black notebook, half-buried under a pile of folders. Inside, dates. Payments. Names. Including her father’s. One name was underlined in red. "Project 5B : Initiated by A.D." She blinked. Her breath caught.

And the blush that was barely receding was back again. "I'm not a pretty little flower, Roses are as pretty as they are dangerous." He scoffed, standing up and even from where he was standing, I could see that he'll tower over me. He straightened out his suit jacket. Eyes boring into mine. "The only dangerous roses are those with thorns Rose, and you my dear, you have no thorns. You're a pretty little flower, a harmless little flower." He walked towards me till he was standing right Infront of me, towering over me as expected, I craned my neck just too look at him. "I'll be taking my leave now pretty flower, say hi to Mr. Potter for me."

A red rose which shines and clearly emerges into the room because the whole room is black. And everywhere in the room there are black roses and that's why this red rose looks more beautiful. I held my body and, with the force of my right arm, I sat on the floor, then I stood up and walked towards this red rose. It is so beautiful and attractive. I have never seen such a beautiful rose, a red rose with so many petals, about twenty, before. I sat beside it and saw that rose which is so attractive and isn't an ordinary rose. On seeing this rose, I just thought about my past.

"This is beautiful '' she murmured, Bohden's lips curled to the side as if telling her it was too soon to decide that. The black flowers had a bright hue of dark blue at the center of it, making it look like an animation. Were they even real flowers? She couldn't believe it, they were so breathtaking and the white porcelain tiles on the driveway added to it. It's only now that she realizes the meaning behind the name and the logo of their company 'Black Rose entertainment company' that name might be because of these flowers around, she concluded.

He held it up to the light, the delicate pen pressed between his fingers - light yet exquisite. "I like it", he turned, staring at the bouquet of blue roses, his gaze complicated. Dylan scratched his head, an awkward laugh escaping his lips. "That... the flower shop i contacted had ran out of chamomiles and only had those". Matthew inhaled, nodding slowly with a low hum. "Thanks" "It was nothing actually, just something that i had to do...out of courtesy", Dylan smiled, waving his hands lightly. They stared at each other silently for a while, neither having a word to say. After a moment, Dylan cleared his throat, his hands running through his thick, strands of hair.

Nancy calmly explained the benefits of the card after giving it to Rose. "Wow.” Rose couldn't help but exclaim because she was mesmerized by the card's exquisite design. It was a black and gold colored card but the black color was more plentiful than the gold. In the center of the card was a beautiful rose that was designed in gold color in order for it to stand out.

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 only sounds were the clinks of knives and forks against porcelain plates. After a long, uneasy stretch, I gathered the courage to speak. “You don’t plan on keeping me here with nothing to do, do you?” He looked up, smirking faintly. “Oh, you can talk,” he said sarcastically, his tone dripping with arrogance. I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Then, without warning, he reached into his coat and placed something on the table. A black card.