Blair and the Blue Rose

By Nero Aries

When Blair Sterling’s parents decide to take a family vacation, an unexpected tragedy befalls the family. And despite surviving the unimaginable, the darkness in her uncle’s heart may claim to a fate more cruel than death itself. But what’s with this mysterious labyrinth? The cold terrain has repeatedly proven to be completely void of hope, until one day when Blair stumbles upon a brilliant blue rose, leading to an ominous, yet mystifying new world. Have her hopes and prayers finally been answered... or will this rabbit hole lead to a place more sinister and terrifying than hell itself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728304533

Nero Aries

Nero Aries was born October 28th, 1992, and grew up mostly in the small town of Ada, Oklahoma. Being extremely introverted since birth, he has spent most of his life in sweet isolation. He lives a very gothic lifestyle and thrives on darkness. Not only is he an author, but a musician, as well. He sings, screams, raps, and plays the piano and violin, as well as a little guitar. Nero spends most days enjoying the company of his son, Vincent, and brother, Branden. Nature is his sanctuary and he is a huge supporter of wildlife conservation. Blair and the Blue Rose is his first complete novel, and he has stated that he has thoroughly enjoyed the project and looks forward to releasing more works; he has several sinister ideas planned for future books.

Book preview

© 2019 Nero Aries. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/15/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-0454-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-0453-3 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1    What a Peculiar Thing

Chapter 2    Reality is but a Far Off Dream

Chapter 3    A Bad Girl and One Good Boy

Chapter 4    True Friends Lie Underneath

Chapter 5    Unleashed

Chapter 6    The Dead Sea

Chapter 7    Roses are Blue, Violets are Dead

Chapter 8    Till Death Do Us Part

Chapter 9    Scena Finis

CHAPTER 1

What a Peculiar Thing

25465.png

I remember the smell of home; it always smelled like rain. The little three bedroom house with the gray panel siding that my family and I lived in, on the corner of Thirteenth and Charnel Street. I never thought I’d get tired of Seattle, until my parents decided we should go on that stupid family trip to visit my aunt Velma and her drunkard husband in Canada. I remember the transition of scenery from the shimmering, rain covered streets to the world turning white with snow. My little sister, Emma, was so annoying the whole trip; I bet she asked me a thousand questions. I remember my parents playing their mixtapes of Elvis, Frank Sinatra, and a few others I didn’t know, the whole way up there. It was my Seventeenth birthday. My dad was so proud of the handcrafted silver cross necklace with the blue sapphire in the center that he had bought me. I was never big on jewelry, but I really liked it. Funny to think it’s only been six months. I remember my mom turning up the heater when I was cold and didn’t want to say anything, and my boyfriend, Damien, wrapping his arms around me. Mom’s cherry red lipstick.. and such a pretty smile. She surprised me with two tickets to see my favorite band back in December; I still have them in the coffin shaped birthday card they picked out. I remember the smell of dad’s coffee, and of mom’s perfume. And I remember those god awful sounds.. the tires squealing, and the front of the car crushing as it met the tree. The mortifying sight of seeing that limb burst through the windshield, impaling my father and his headrest, and hearing my little sister’s neck snap against the back of the seat. I remember watching my mother being ejected head first through the shards of shattering glass, and her lifeless body sliding across the frozen ground. I ran to help her, only to turn and see the car going up in flames, and Damien struggling to get out of his stuck seatbelt.. his soft lips motioning I love you as he choked on his last breath.

I remember it all….

Happy fucking birthday, Blair.

After the tragedy, I ended up staying with my aunt Velma. I had no other family, and no money to make it on my own. It was a lot different than it was back home, but it wasn’t not too bad, I guess. I’d become rather fond of the silence and solitude, and my aunt and uncle are mostly quiet. Velma sits by the fire in her rocker and reads romance novels most days, and her husband, uncle Cid, is either passing out in the barn, drunk, or hunting in the nearby woods. I don’t like the vibes or weird looks I get from him. The alone time lets me reflect. The most communication I get is from my therapist, whom seems to care about my thoughts and feelings about as much as a maggot cares whose corpse it’s eating. There isn’t even a phone here for me to call my old friends. So, to say the least, I am utterly and completely alone now.

The aesthetics of this place are still settling in for me, as well. The suburban lifestyle I’ve known for so long has been replaced with a stone cottage that is literally in the middle of nowhere. The cottage consists of the kitchen, living room, a restroom, one upstairs bedroom, and a closet under the staircase; they were kind enough to let me sleep in the closet. There is the rundown barn that uncle Cid uses to store the old Chevy truck he’ll never restore, and is where he keeps all his booze (which I occasionally sneak into to fill my skull shaped flask.) Other than that, there is a poorly made carport for their station wagon, a small shed, and a large garden. Though I’ve never seen anyone tend to it, the garden’s large hedges and pink roses seem to be growing quite luscious. This is the place I find myself spending most of my time. It’s a big garden, but feels like a labyrinth as I wonder aimlessly. It’s nice to just be able to escape from this drab space. Hours will pass, and by the time I realize how long I’ve been out, my entire body feels dead… numb.. from the cold atmosphere. Yet, still, this is my only place of happiness in such a sorrowful world. I still can’t figure out why my parents wanted to visit here in the first place.

Anyways, the garden is where our story really begins. Walls of green with accents of pink surround me, the soft white snow crunching beneath my feet, birds singing like some sort of old Disney movie, and the pale blue sky just sitting gracefully above; I didn’t even know songbirds could survive in this climate, but it was nice. Speaking of the climate, I really should’ve packed better clothes, but aunt Velma lets me borrow her fur coat when I come out. Still, these black suede slippers aren’t made to ice hike. As I strolled, I seemed to continuously find paths I hadn’t walked, as there were no footprints. Walking along, the birds’ song began to become more and more quiet. Silenced completely, I found myself before a small tree with a trunk merely ten or so feet tall, dark leaves, and black foliage climbing the bark and covering the ground around it. The thing that stood out the most was the rose emitting from the mondo grass. Whilst the rest of the garden was filled with these dull, pink roses, this rose was blue and almost seemed to glow. The beauty in what I’d discovered was nearly enough to take my breath away. Its petals were soft as a baby’s touch, and the smell was alluring and mysterious. As I admired its presence, I could hear aunt Velma calling me for dinner. I picked the rose and followed my footsteps back to the cottage. Probably should’ve left it there.

Plain oatmeal for dinner and a glass of flavorless sparkling water. Cid ate a large bowl with a tankard of ale, and Velma didn’t eat; I don’t think she ever eats. Dinner conversation was a perfect match to the rest of the events here: lonely and silent. After dinner, I went to my room to write about my day. I didn’t finish all of the water, so that I could keep the blue rose in my glass like a vase. This room is bullshit.. just a daybed and a small dresser crammed in a four by six room with Christmas lights that I nailed around the ceiling. Aunt Velma is still pissed about the anarchy symbol I drew on the wall with my nail polish. At least it gave the room a little character.