The Curse of the Crimson Rose
Oh, how I adore the truly wicked places. The ones with layers of history so dark and twisted that even I can’t help but take a little pleasure in telling their tale. So, let me take you on a delightful journey to one of the most cursed corners of 4EverMore: The cursed estate of the Crimson Rose. And no, it’s not some romantic tragedy—believe me, this isn’t some love story wrapped in silk. No, this is far darker and much more dangerous than that.
Long ago, before the cities gleamed with gemstone spires, and before the witches and the creatures of the night came to carve out their domains, there was an estate, The Crimson Rose Manor. Picture it: sprawling grounds, magnificent gardens, towering marble walls, and the intoxicating scent of roses—thick and heady, like the kind of perfume that makes your head spin and your stomach turn. In its prime, it was breathtaking, the envy of the elite, where the rich and powerful held their galas, and their whispered deals fluttered like butterflies in the night.
But nothing good ever lasts, especially when people meddle with things they shouldn’t.
The tale begins with Lady Rosalia Virelli, a woman of exquisite beauty and unrivaled ambition. She was the daughter of a noble family—powerful, respected, but with a thirst for more. She didn’t want the wealth of her family. Oh no. She craved eternal beauty. A beauty untouched by age, a beauty that could make her the most sought-after woman in all of 4EverMore. What better way to achieve that than by seeking out the magical Crimson Rose? Legend had it that this enchanted flower, when consumed, would grant eternal youth and unrivaled power. But there was one small catch: The Crimson Rose didn’t just bloom for anyone. It was a rare and elusive flower, a guardian of secrets that had been hidden away for centuries.
Rosalia, naturally, couldn’t be bothered with those kinds of details. She was a woman of action, not of patience. So, she made a deal with a notorious Dark Witch from Ebonville, a cunning, cruel woman known as Lira Sablewind. Lira, with her twisted knowledge of magic, promised to procure the flower in exchange for a favor later. But, of course, in this world, you never make deals with witches, especially not the ones that dwell in the heart of darkness.
It didn’t take long for Lira to deliver the rose—brought to Rosalia on a velvet cushion, its petals deep red, almost black, like a bleeding wound. The fragrance was intoxicating, and the moment Rosalia took a single breath of it, she felt her skin tighten, her heart beat faster. She knew it had worked. She was already changing. But there’s always a price to pay.
What Lira hadn’t mentioned, of course, was that the Crimson Rose didn’t just grant immortality—it demanded a sacrifice. A soul, to be exact. The moment Rosalia had ingested the first petal, her soul was no longer hers to command. It became bound to the rose, and with each passing day, her beauty grew—but so did the hunger of the flower. The Crimson Rose demanded more, and it wouldn’t stop until it had consumed everything Rosalia had.
She began to wither from the inside out, her soul slipping away into the depths of the rose's insatiable hunger. She tried to fight it, tried to find a way to sever the bond. But it was too late. The rose was always there, growing inside her, feeding off her essence, blooming deeper with each passing day. Her estate became a prison, a fortress surrounded by the thick, unyielding scent of roses that hid the horror within.
Soon, the estate was abandoned, for those who had once sought her company began to whisper of her strange behavior. How she had started to appear in the windows, her face a perfect mask of beauty, but with eyes that were hollow and soulless. How the roses that bloomed around the manor had started to become… alive, moving with a strange, twisted energy. The roses no longer bloomed only on the estate. They spread, creeping like venom, poisoning the land around them.
No one knows for certain what happened to Lady Rosalia Virelli, but the manor still stands, though its former splendor has long faded. It’s said that on the rarest of nights, when the moon is full and the wind is still, the roses outside the manor still bloom with a terrifying intensity, and in the windows, you can see her face—her perfect beauty now warped by the hunger of the Crimson Rose. Her once golden hair is now dark and withered, and her eyes are nothing but deep pools of blackness. The roses, alive with a twisted, unnatural power, move in the wind like sentient creatures, their thorns sharp enough to pierce through flesh.
But if you’re brave—or foolish—enough to enter the estate, you’ll find something even more horrifying than a beauty lost to time. The Crimson Rose still waits, its magic unbroken, feeding on the souls of anyone foolish enough to enter. Some say it has become a creature of its own—a dark entity, bound to the manor, its roots tangled in the very walls of the estate, thirsting for the souls of the living.
And Lady Rosalia? She’s still there, somewhere, her soul caught in a never-ending cycle, bound to the flower. The legend says she now roams the manor in search of new souls to steal, her beauty a hollow mask, her laughter like a whisper on the wind.
So, a word of advice: Don’t go looking for the Crimson Rose. Don’t seek immortality in places where it’s never meant to be found. Because once you set foot on that cursed land, the rose will know your name—and it will never let you go.
And you’ll be just another soul lost to the hunger of the Crimson Rose.
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