Read Online When the Black Roses Grow by Angela Christina Archer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Angela Christina Archer
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only shame to the memories of thy mother and father.”
Anger flared in my blood. Her words wounded, stabbing a thousand times, as the harsh pain of the truth punched me in the gut. Tears misted my eyes as I pushed past her, leaving her standing alone in the cow pen.
“Good day, Miss McCarven.”
I trotted through my back door, slamming it shut and not caring if she watched or followed. Dread and anxiety swirled in my stomach, casting a gloom upon the walls of my home that blurred through my tears.
Time spent with James proved more than just time spent with simply someone. Time spent with him held more significance.
And yet, it meant sin. I did not know if I could face its consequences.
I leaned against the door, pressing my forehead into the wood. It moaned with coldness, like a lifeless being, sharing its displeasure in me. I glanced at the table, beckoning the memories and the happiness that flowed through my veins not but a few hours ago.
Suddenly, I caught sight of something else, an intense evil that attacked without warning and strained the last nerve that held my sanity. The vine rested motionless, almost lifeless. If it were not green, I would think it not as a living plant.
But ‘twas not a living plant. ‘Twas magic, dark magic. It haunted my soul and taunted me with its presence.
Tiny clustered buds of black, silk-like petals bounced from the slightest whisper of movement. Undoubtedly, they will unfold into the same black roses that adorned the cross on my mother’s grave, although when, I did not know.
Unrelenting dread churned in my stomach. Twisting and writhing until I could not take another second. I had to stroke it, had to feel the magic for myself with my own touch.
I held my breath as I inched forward, outstretched my hand, and allowed my fingertips to graze along the crisp stem.
One cannot expect the sheer realness and softness of utter ecstasy. In that one touch, my body drew a relaxing fragility, a soothing sensation. Gentle, yet divine, and the prickling itch crawling on my skin vanished, leaving my world as calm as a winter morning with the blissful silence of falling snow.
My doubt faded, my fear perished, my thoughts dissolved.
Rapture tingled through my skin. Not a care or worry touched my soul while only happiness pulsed through my veins. So foreign, and yet, so needed, I closed my eyes, and consented to stillness.
A soft touch brushed against my wrist.
I opened my eyes and jerked my arm away from the thin, wispy stem that had wrapped around my wrist.
It touched me.
I recoiled across the room until my back pressed against the wall.
Panic bubbled in my chest. A plant had just twisted its stem around my wrist as though human and wished to communicate with me.
A foolish thought, nonetheless, one thought just the same.
The once chirping birds had silenced, although when I did not know, perhaps, just a moment ago, or perhaps longer. Instead, strange noises flickered in my ear. Like the bellows of townsfolk, and yet, the sound not loud enough. Distant whispers of a distracted mind?
Had the birds felt the dark magic come alive? Had a presence clouded over my home, slithering through the air outside in an invisible haze that forced them to flee?
With my eyes fixed upon the vine, the once faint sounds drew louder and louder with every second as though a crowd advanced down the dirt road.
No, no, it could not be. Please tell me, I am not hearing what I think I am.
My heart plummeted into the pit of my gut. I had lived through such a moment before when an angry crowd hunted my mother.
I crept to one of my windows. My trembling fingers hesitated for a second before drawing the shutter open a few inches. I peered out of the window and my eyes locked onto the crowd marching down the street toward my home.
They each held torches and shouted with booming voices as they followed Reverend Perris and the line of deacons dressed in their church suits, carrying their Bibles. I caught my
Anger flared in my blood. Her words wounded, stabbing a thousand times, as the harsh pain of the truth punched me in the gut. Tears misted my eyes as I pushed past her, leaving her standing alone in the cow pen.
“Good day, Miss McCarven.”
I trotted through my back door, slamming it shut and not caring if she watched or followed. Dread and anxiety swirled in my stomach, casting a gloom upon the walls of my home that blurred through my tears.
Time spent with James proved more than just time spent with simply someone. Time spent with him held more significance.
And yet, it meant sin. I did not know if I could face its consequences.
I leaned against the door, pressing my forehead into the wood. It moaned with coldness, like a lifeless being, sharing its displeasure in me. I glanced at the table, beckoning the memories and the happiness that flowed through my veins not but a few hours ago.
Suddenly, I caught sight of something else, an intense evil that attacked without warning and strained the last nerve that held my sanity. The vine rested motionless, almost lifeless. If it were not green, I would think it not as a living plant.
But ‘twas not a living plant. ‘Twas magic, dark magic. It haunted my soul and taunted me with its presence.
Tiny clustered buds of black, silk-like petals bounced from the slightest whisper of movement. Undoubtedly, they will unfold into the same black roses that adorned the cross on my mother’s grave, although when, I did not know.
Unrelenting dread churned in my stomach. Twisting and writhing until I could not take another second. I had to stroke it, had to feel the magic for myself with my own touch.
I held my breath as I inched forward, outstretched my hand, and allowed my fingertips to graze along the crisp stem.
One cannot expect the sheer realness and softness of utter ecstasy. In that one touch, my body drew a relaxing fragility, a soothing sensation. Gentle, yet divine, and the prickling itch crawling on my skin vanished, leaving my world as calm as a winter morning with the blissful silence of falling snow.
My doubt faded, my fear perished, my thoughts dissolved.
Rapture tingled through my skin. Not a care or worry touched my soul while only happiness pulsed through my veins. So foreign, and yet, so needed, I closed my eyes, and consented to stillness.
A soft touch brushed against my wrist.
I opened my eyes and jerked my arm away from the thin, wispy stem that had wrapped around my wrist.
It touched me.
I recoiled across the room until my back pressed against the wall.
Panic bubbled in my chest. A plant had just twisted its stem around my wrist as though human and wished to communicate with me.
A foolish thought, nonetheless, one thought just the same.
The once chirping birds had silenced, although when I did not know, perhaps, just a moment ago, or perhaps longer. Instead, strange noises flickered in my ear. Like the bellows of townsfolk, and yet, the sound not loud enough. Distant whispers of a distracted mind?
Had the birds felt the dark magic come alive? Had a presence clouded over my home, slithering through the air outside in an invisible haze that forced them to flee?
With my eyes fixed upon the vine, the once faint sounds drew louder and louder with every second as though a crowd advanced down the dirt road.
No, no, it could not be. Please tell me, I am not hearing what I think I am.
My heart plummeted into the pit of my gut. I had lived through such a moment before when an angry crowd hunted my mother.
I crept to one of my windows. My trembling fingers hesitated for a second before drawing the shutter open a few inches. I peered out of the window and my eyes locked onto the crowd marching down the street toward my home.
They each held torches and shouted with booming voices as they followed Reverend Perris and the line of deacons dressed in their church suits, carrying their Bibles. I caught my
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