The Bloodied Rose Novels & Stories

Rose, being all radiant and smiley to herself, flicked the doorknob to enter the room. As soon as Rose did that ... Her breaths were gone ... She stopped for a second, and she suddenly felt her heart clenching as a distinct wave of nausea washed over her. She endured the unsettling trickles of fresh, warm blood on the bare skin of her feet. The sight before her was nothing short of a nightmare making her body plummet. She instinctively reached out for something to steady herself but found nothing within her little reach. With a thud, she collapsed on her knees as she witnessed her beloved little cupcake lying lifeless on the floor, the kitten's tiny, fluffy body marred by the flickering pool

“Sorry, I’m a bit out of it.” She shrugged, and opening the small door in the gate. She had no umbrella with her, I’m guessing she go out in a hurry. Who wouldn’t when their cousin was standing in front of her own home gate, and staring at her house like a psycho? “Don’t apologize. Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold.” I nod, following her through the door. The walkway is just like I remember, on each side are prize winning roses. Of different colors. Huh? When do black roses exist? I took a small detour from following Alexis, bending over a patch of those strange black roses.

Blood spilled onto the paper just like it did a few seconds ago with her. But that was not the surprising part, our blood drops started moving towards each other and pretty soon formed a big red drop of blood which quickly turned golden and disappeared in the form of tiny stars. A gasp was heard. I turned to see Rose with her mouth wide open, she quickly realized I was looking at her and closed her mouth with a small smile. "What does it mean?" "It means you are my niece," Celia wiped the tear and before I knew it, hugged me tightly.

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."

As soon as I stepped into the foyer, my eyes landed on Rachel. She hurriedly thrust a bouquet into my hands. When I glanced down at it, I saw that it was a bunch of white roses. However, they were marred by fresh blood, the crimson droplets still dripping onto the floor from the petals. My heart pounded in my chest as I stared at the gruesome sight before me. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the sweet fragrance of the roses in a sickening juxtaposition. I recoiled instinctively, my fingers trembling as I clutched the tainted bouquet, my mind reeling with horror at the implications of what I held in my hands.

There weren't many at all, for I want only to be with one. War has a way of making you see things, sense things that are out of the ordinary. It is hard to think that in the middle of all of this death, pain, that a wild rose could bud, even bloom to the fullness of a flower. Peaceful and so vibrant, baffled I am that it is the same color of the blood that I have spilled. We have been trained to shed the blood of an enemy who would crush and trample this wild rose underfoot.

Valentina I never thought a rose could terrify me. But the one I held in my hand the blood-red rose.felt like a death sentence. Its petals, delicate as velvet, were smeared with something darker. Not just crimson... blood. Real blood. Fresh. I clutched the edge of the marble sink in my en suite bathroom, my knuckles white. My heart pounded like war drums against my ribs. Who left it? When? I had locked this door before I fell asleep, hadn’t I?

My fingers became wet. Dark red liquid spread across my skin. I sniffed it. Rose’s blood. My heart almost stopped beating.

Both are yours to keep. The next was softer. Romantic in my own kind of way. A blood-slick ear, still dripping when I placed it gently among a bed of deep red roses. The petals soaked up the blood, turning a deeper shade by the second. The note read: Your name is written in every death I cause. You can't wash it away.

For a second, I could not understand what I was seeing. My mind refused to accept it. It tried to fix it. To turn it into something normal. Something harmless. She fell. She fainted. She is just resting. But none of it fit. None of it made sense. Rose was on the floor. Not sitting. Not leaning. On the floor. Still. Too still. And there was blood. So much blood. It spread across the rug beneath her. Dark. Too dark. Too much. My breath caught. Then everything rushed at once.