Withering Roses Novels & Stories

A book containing information about flowers and plants. Red Roses could mean love and passion. But fifty roses is a different meaning. A love that has no bounds. Her fantastical world erupted and everything suddenly burned down to ashes. What is going on? The visions were becoming too much of a reality when Iris can feel the heat of the fire. The banner and roses were burning and an evil laugh echoed throughout the air. This time it was a much clearer voice, it was a female's laughter. "The past is the only way...go and find it."

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.

Just outside the city gates, a patch of Lias Roses curled up towards the sky. They were beautiful. Elegant in their shape, something akin to a heart, and their colors changed depending on the emotion one felt when presenting them. Lias Roses could read the emotions of your heart through your Lias, but few people picked them. Their thorns were quite annoying, as once they pricked someone, the thorns grew larger, the size tripling for every little drop of blood on it. If one got stuck within a neck, the victim would die immediately. Silas appeared with a book in his hand, his hand cast out towards the bush.

I was sure the moisture wasn't because she was crying. This one? Cry? Not after hitting me with a fire extinguisher. "You wanna say anything?" I asked, letting the cigarettes burn leisurely between my fingers. I reached out and gently undid the mouth gag. My eyes fell to her lips. They were so full, I began to imagine how it'd be like kissing this one. I traced my right index finger on the side of her lips. She turned her face away, her brows knitting into a frown. I sighed loudly and dragged on my cigarette, blowing more smoke on her face. Her shoulders heaved in a cough, tears streamed down her eyes. I smiled smugly, feeling pleased with myself.

Nonetheless, it was an eye for an eye now, as Lara experienced my despair and helplessness. - Meanwhile, John was searching for the wilting black roses. He had always been a clean freak, but he dug his long fingers into the soft soil, getting it in between his fingernails. The rain was flowing down his cheeks, also drenching his locks and leaving them sticking over his brow. "Claire—you held on to the seeds even as you died. Were you trying to tell me something? That it hurts so much, and you want me to save you soon?"

The scent of roses clung to the air, thick and sweet, but there was nothing gentle in the garden where Serenya had been cast. The blossoms were not flowers at all—at least not natural ones. Their crimson petals shone faintly under moonlight, shimmering with a sheen like wet blood. Their thorns were long, curved like hooks, and when she reached too close to push aside a vine, it snapped forward, drawing a line of red across her wrist.

For a moment, I felt at peace. But then... the meadow withered. The once green grass turned brown and brittle beneath my feet, crumbling into ash with every step I took. The roses, once full of life, began to rot. Their petals turned black, and dark red liquid—blood—dripped from them, staining the ground. I stepped back, heart pounding as dread wrapped itself around me.

I smiled. Rose had mud covering her clothes, with splashes of water on her top as well. "You should change your clothes, otherwise you will catch a cold." She nodded with a sheepish smile, "I went to collect water from the river but slipped over the rock and fell." I paused but continued stirring again...the river. "Can you add the final petals and stir this? I have some work to do." Rose looked at me in shock and to my surprise, she shook her head in a no immediately, "I can't do that, you shall always complete your work other..."

(wild roses or fresh liles) I chose the roses because humans would do liles. I think the roses show the duality of werewolves, their perseverance, beauty, strength, and the fact that they are wild roses yields to the untamed nature of werewolves. A thron pricks my finger, but they bled for me so it is only fair that I do for them too. Frank looks at me, waiting to see what I will do. I walk toward the bodies and kneel between them. I slowly let out a breath as I bow my head and place the flowers on the sheets. The Elders look between themselves but say nothing. Good because this is about respect, nothing else. I close my eyes silencing everything around me. I say in my mind, I regret not get

The waterfall roared louder than usual, but a rancid smell overpowered the usual scent of roses. Rogues were waiting for her, not Xavier. One of them was the unkempt man from the market. Rose readied herself, then she felt him. Xavier, running flat out, drawn by the bond. He burst into the clearing, eyes blazing. “Rose, run!” “No, we fight together.” Then the wild roses moved like a living thing. They had always grown thick here, but tonight they came alive. Vines wrapped her ankles, thorns gentle against her skin, petals brushing her face.