Burnt Roses Novels & Stories

The roses in the Vitale garden are not red. They are black baccara—a deep, velvety burgundy that looks like dried blood in the midday sun. I am on my knees in the dirt. It is part of the penance. Part of the show. I am wearing the grey uniform, stained at the knees with soil. My hands are gloved in rough canvas, holding a pair of heavy shears. Snip. I cut a deadhead from the bush. It falls to the ground, shriveled and brown.

He kissed me back, hard and consuming, as if he could devour the pain right out of me. For a heartbeat, I let myself vanish in that kiss—pretend I was someone else, somewhere else, untouched by betrayal. The next thing I knew, the world blurred—his arm around me, the press of a door closing, sheets tangled beneath my trembling hands. Morning hit like a cruel joke. I woke tangled in unfamiliar sheets, my head pounding, my lips swollen. The stranger from the bar lay beside me, half-covered, the shadows of his muscles stark against the pale dawn light. Even asleep, he radiated danger, power… something I couldn’t name.

Her hairs started flowing in the air and a shiver ran down her body which was covered with only a thin cotton shirt and pair of jeans. Rose didn’t bother to herself. She moved forward and reached near a large garbage drum which was completely empty. She then threw her laptop inside the drum with full energy and “bang,” the laptop shredded into uncountable pieces. From the corner of the terrace, Rose took the can of gasoline, pour it into the drum, and light the fire inside. Smoke started coming out of the big drum. She stares at it for a few minutes, then moved out of the terrace while sniffing.

Is it a coincident? ''With their warm, vibrant tones, orange roses symbolise enthusiasm and desire. If someone is looking for a way to express admiration and attraction—with an underlying message of passion and excitement, they'll send you a bouquet filled with these fiery blooms.'' She breathes out, smiling as she eyes each of the orange roses, ''I haven't seen him for quite some time, I'm not so sure if his interest has changed.'' ''I'm pretty sure they remain the same,'' I reply. She turns to me, ''It's beautiful how your name is Rose. Have you met my son, Elia?''

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.

Chapter Two: SIGHTING Later that night, Rojean dolled up to go to a place that was both a nightclub and a bar that everyone was talking about. She was old enough, for sure, especially if she was going to get married soon. But she was never the kind of person to go out on the weekends, to a club or even a bar and always preferred the comfort of their apartment which Lucas didn’t mind at all even when he wanted to go out. She was in a cream coloured off shoulder dress which stopped mid-thigh and hugged her curves beautifully.

"Why did you have to burn them? it's rude to burn gifts." "Roses have become a taboo for me. The devil used to bring it to me and if could I want to burn all of his memories..." The most heart-wrenching thing about those memories was the fact she was happy seeing him. She was happy to receive those roses. And that man ruined everything. She burned her soul like those roses. "Then what about chocolates? you love chocolates!" "But what if it's poisoned!" She retorted. "Why would he poison you!" "You never know, after I offended him maybe he is planning on taking my life or want to destroy me, chain me, beat me to death burn me ashes cut me into pieces and hang it on -"

While it doesn't really bother me because I know I'm gorgeous and do not need anyone to tell me that or otherwise, it is exhausting to stand about and listen to five nitwits whose brains are filled with nothing but the hottest guys in town and high fashion in Vogue spout insults and play tricks on me. I once considered calling them out on their bullshit or even giving one of them a black eye at some point but Ella beat me to it. She's not exactly the most patient person when it comes to dealing with people and she's pretty tough. As the only scholarship students in our year, it's quite easy to identify us as we're required to wear a ‘pride brooch’ as it's called. It's supposed to make us pro

Bianca was sold to a mafia lord at a very young age and all she could think about was getting revenge. Her plan was going well until the mafia lord's son, Nico, came into the picture. Nico was handsome and cold, brutal but calm. However, when he met Bianca, she brought out his troubled side. He didn't want her. She didn't care. In fact, she hated him. She felt he was emotionless and he felt she was too tough. Both were intrigued. ~♡~ "The only thing stopping me from taking you right here on this table, is that you belong to my father." His voice was tensed and I didn't need to see his face to know how he felt. "My father's whore." He added. I swallowed, hurt by his words. "You

The beautiful petals of that rose turned into darkness of nothing. He didn't let those burning petals fall on the ground by shielding them in his palm. Zian clutched those remnants of that completely burnt rose in his hand and then finally turned around to face her. Kaya felt like her soul had left her body when she saw that iniquitous grin playing on his face as he clutched that burnt rose in his palm. She watched him striding closer to her which made her eyes filled with a tear with his every step removing that distance between them.