The Black Rose

On the night of the new moon, when shadows cling thickest to the earth, King Louis takes his pleasure with the newly flowered maidens—those on the trembling cusp of womanhood. He binds them, naked and shuddering, to the gnarled trees of the deep forest, where no living thing stirs but the whispering wind. Then, with cruel precision, he looses his venom-tipped arrows, one by one, until their breath stills and their blood spills upon the roots of the dead earth.

When the crimson ritual is done, he bathes in their stolen life, letting the warmth of their sacrifice seep into his skin. Then, with cold ceremony, he buries each broken girl beneath the soil—and from each grave, a black rose blooms.

No bees dare touch these petals. No birds sing in this blighted wood. The roses drip with a poison so potent that even their scent is a warning. King Louis harvests them, crushing their dark hearts into a venomous syrup, which he smears upon his arrows. A single scratch is doom—the heart falters, the veins blacken, and death comes swift as a sigh.

The forest knows only silence. The trees stand as skeletal sentinels, their branches clawing at a sky that has long forsaken this place. Even the undergrowth withers, as though the very earth recoils from the king’s touch. Only the roses thrive, their inky blossoms a mockery of life.

Nearby, a crumbling hut slumps beneath moss and creeping vines—its walls steeped in the echoes of screams. Here, the king takes his fill of the maidens for ten nights, their terror a sacrament to something far older, far hungrier than himself. And when the new moon rises, he offers them to the dark.

Ten days before that fateful night, the disappearances begin. Young women vanish from their beds, from village lanes, from the arms of weeping mothers. None return. None are ever found. Those who serve the king do so in trembling silence, for betrayal earns not just death—but a spectacle of it.

They say demons guard his palace. That those foolish enough to strike under cover of darkness are found at dawn—torn apart, their remains strewn like gruesome offerings. King Louis walks untouched, his reign unbroken, for he serves powers that feast on suffering.

And the black roses grow ever thicker in the cursed grove.

North of the king’s palace, where the road frayed into dirt, stood the hut of Rahim—a woodcutter whose calloused hands fed his daughter Ayasha. Each dawn, he vanished into the jungle’s emerald throat, returning at dusk with bundles of firewood slung over his shoulder like skeletal offerings. The coins he earned barely filled their bellies, but Ayasha’s laughter made the hunger sting less.

On this day, the forest lured him deeper than usual. As twilight bled through the trees, he stumbled upon the edge of the Blighted Grove—a place where the very air tasted of rust and forgotten screams. There, amid the ashen undergrowth, grew a rose. Not crimson or ivory, but black as a widow’s veil. Its petals drank the fading light.

Rahim hesitated. Ayasha—his Ayasha, now eighteen summers old—had never owned anything so fine. Her skin was the gold of dawn, her hair a monsoon cloud unraveling down her back. The gods had gifted him a daughter with eyes like mirrored pools, yet his poverty could gift her only gruel and patched saris. This rose, he thought, would make her smile.

His fingers closed around the stem.

A hiss split the silence.

A serpent, blacker than the rose, reared before him—fangs bared, tongue flicking the scent of his fear. Rahim fled, roots snaring his ankles, thorns clawing his skin. When he finally collapsed, gasping, the snake was gone. The rose lay beside him, its stem now smeared with blood from his gashed foot. Had it… pulsed as the droplets touched it?

Shaking, he tucked the flower into his bundle and limped home.

Ayasha met him at the door, a clay jug in one hand, a glass of water in the other. How she always knew the exact moment of his return was a mystery as old as her mother’s ghost.

“How do you always sense me coming, child?” Rahim rasped, sweat etching trails through the grime on his face.

She dimpled. “Later, Abba. Wash first.”

On the porch, he slumped against a post, eyelids sagging. The rose, hidden in his sack, hummed with a warmth he dared not name.

In the dusty courtyard, Ayasha's pet goat Lakshmi trotted behind her with cloven devotion. The Arabian Jasmine flower tucked into Ayasha's hair suddenly loosened, tumbling downward - only to transform mid-fall into a fluttering butterfly. Lakshmi sprang after the dancing creature, hooves kicking up ochre dust as Ayasha snatched the insect from the air.

"Not now, Enchanting Fairy," she chided the shimmering wings in her palm. "Father's resting." The butterfly dissolved back into a blossom between her fingers. She tucked it behind her ear again, the petals still humming with unnatural warmth.

Inside, she arranged puffed rice and water before her weary father. As Rahim chewed, he revealed his gift - the black rose, its petals absorbing sunlight like a spill of ink. "Isn't it beautiful, ma? Have you ever seen—"

The moment Ayasha touched the stem, her skin prickled with gooseflesh. The Arabian Jasmine flower burst from her hair as a panicked butterfly, while Lakshmi began bleating wildly, circling as if possessed. The rose's thorns seemed to pulse in her grip.

Miles away in his opulent chamber, King Louis froze atop his latest trembling conquest. The dark power that sustained him recoiled - someone had touched his cursed bloom. With ritual precision, he slit his finger and let two drops of blood fall upon an ancient hand mirror. The surface rippled, revealing...

Ayasha's face. Milk-and-honey skin framed by nightfall hair, but it was her eyes - wide with dawning horror as Lakshmi seized the rose - that arrested him. The goat convulsed, frothing as the petals withered to ash in its jaws. Ayasha's wail of grief echoed strangely through the mirror before the image shattered.

Louis licked his lips. This was no ordinary girl. His soldiers received their orders before his blood had dried on the dagger.

Outside, Rahim had gone to market, oblivious. Inside, Ayasha cradled Lakshmi's stiffening body, the goat's tongue blackened by venom no earthly plant could produce. The Arabian Jasmine butterfly quivered on the dead creature's forehead, its wings shedding glowing pollen like tears.

Enchanting Fairy didn't need words to confirm what Ayasha already knew - this rose was death disguised as beauty, and its discovery had drawn the king's gaze to their humble home. Somewhere in the palace, ten new graves were being dug. But for whom?

Ayesha buried the lifeless body of her goat, Lakshmi, in the garden before her father returned.

Lying in bed at night, sleep eluded Ayesha—her eyes wide open. No matter what, she had to uncover the mystery of that black rose.

Midnight. Ravenous dark clouds swallowed the moon, plunging the earth into pitch-black darkness. Restless, Ayesha tossed and turned in bed.

Suddenly, she felt someone's hot breath on her neck. In an instant, Ayesha snapped her fingers, and the jasmine flower beside her pillow burst into flames, illuminating the room with radiant light.

In that glow, Ayesha saw her husband, Suleiman, standing by the bed with a gentle smile. She was utterly stunned.

In this kingdom, King Louis had a rule: before any grown woman could be married, his permission had to be sought. If the woman was beautiful, the greedy and tyrannical Louis would keep her for a night, indulging in her body before sending her back.

To escape this fate, Ayesha’s father had secretly married her off to Suleiman two years ago. At the time, Ayesha was only sixteen.

On their wedding day, Suleiman left for the neighboring kingdom to master the art of war. And now, after two long years, he had returned. Ayesha was now a grown woman.

Suleiman took out a garland of jasmine flowers and draped it around Ayesha’s neck. Shyness flushed her fair cheeks crimson.

He pulled her up into his embrace and held her close. Suleiman could feel the rapid beating of Ayesha’s heart.

Scooping her up in his arms, he gazed into her eyes and whispered, "After a long wait, I have finally succeeded in returning to the court of my heart’s queen. Tonight is the greatest night of my life—I banish sleep, for I shall be lost in the touch of my beloved. This night is ours alone… for closeness, for love."

A strange, thrilling sensation coursed through Ayesha, sending a delicate shiver down her spine.

Suleiman seated Ayesha upon the bed and drew from his pocket a pair of silver anklets. Gently, he clasped them around her slender ankles, his voice a whisper of devotion. "My beloved wife, you are without equal—the longer I gaze upon you, the deeper I drown in the sorcery of your bewitching eyes."

He lay beside her then, pulling her close until their breaths mingled. His lips found hers—soft, insistent—igniting a fire that sent tremors through Ayesha’s body. Control slipped from her grasp as Suleiman traced kisses along her brow, the curve of her throat, the hollow of her collarbone, each touch a brand of possession. She arched into him, surrendering to the delirium, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as if he alone anchored her to the earth.

His hands, calloused yet tender, explored the secrets of her form, mapping the places that made her gasp. The world beyond their tangled limbs ceased to exist. When at last he began to undress her, Ayesha flicked her wrist—the enchanted flower dimmed, draping them in darkness. There, in that sacred silence, they became one, lost in a tempest of longing and fulfillment.

The new moon loomed, a silent omen.

King Louis summoned his captains, his voice a blade in the stillness. "Bring me ten maidens before the moon returns. And among them—ensure Ayesha is taken."

No sooner had the command left his lips than his soldiers set to work. Buffaloes were slaughtered, their blood dark upon the earth. Cauldrons bubbled with biryani, its fragrant steam curling into the night like phantom hands.

A feast for the poor—or so it seemed.

The kingdom believed their king generous, a ruler who fed the hungry. None knew the truth: that the food was but a ruse, a means to scout for beauty hidden behind closed doors. His soldiers moved like shadows, noting which homes held daughters with eyes like starlight, which families would soon wake to empty beds.

Bandits, the people whispered when girls vanished. The Dead Forest hides monsters.

They never looked to the throne.

But grief is a tide, and stolen children leave behind a wake of wailing mothers, furious fathers—a storm even a king cannot outrun.

King Louis, drunk on power, did not yet hear the thunder.

But it was coming.

Last month, when the girls from the neighboring region vanished, a seed of suspicion had taken root in Ayesha’s mind. Every time the king sends his "special feast" to a district, soon after, girls disappear from that very place. Could the king be behind this? She had kept her doubts to herself—until now. Now, she wondered if she should share them with Suleiman.

Meanwhile, their bodies still humming from their lovemaking, Suleiman rolled off her, drank a glass of water, and then settled his head upon Ayesha’s chest. His voice was warm, drowsy with contentment. "Come, let us plant the seed of love tonight—the one that will blossom into motherhood for you and fatherly pride for me. Let us lose ourselves in each other once more."

As he leaned in to kiss her, Ayesha placed a finger on his lips. "Before we bring a child into this world," she whispered, "there is something I must do."

"What is it?" Suleiman asked.

"The girls who vanish from our kingdom—they never return. I must uncover the truth behind this."

"What do you think is happening?"

"I’m not certain," Ayesha admitted, "but I’ve noticed a pattern. Whenever King Louis sends his so-called charity meals to a region, soon after, young women disappear from that very place. The food and the disappearances—they must be connected. Until I solve this mystery, until I can ensure no more daughters are stolen, I cannot bring a child into this world."

Suleiman smiled faintly, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Your will is mine. Whatever you decide, I will stand beside you—always."

Ayesha smiled, returning his kiss before resting her head on his chest and drifting into sleep. Suleiman stroked her hair, his own eyes growing heavy, until slumber claimed them both.

The next morning, Ayesha’s father set off into the woods to chop firewood. He worked through the day, and as evening fell, he began his journey home.

But as he passed the edge of the Dead Forest, his steps faltered.

His gaze snagged on the black roses.

They seemed to pulse in the fading light—dark, unnatural, whispering of secrets buried deep.

And for the first time, he wondered if they were not just flowers... but a warning.

Unaware of his own steps, Ayesha’s father drifted toward the black rose garden. His fingers brushed a petal—

And the rose’s leaves twisted into monstrous black serpents, coiling around his limbs.

A hidden tunnel yawned open beside him. The snakes dragged him inside, their hisses slithering into the dark.

Dusk bled into night.

Ayesha paced, restless. Her father always returned before sunset—so where was he now?

When the moon climbed high, she could wait no longer. "Enchanting Fairy!" she called.

A golden specter materialized before her, radiating light. Within its glow, a blurred vision formed: her father’s face, contorted in pain, bound by snakes.

Ayesha’s blood turned to ice. She seized Suleiman’s arm, recounting the vision in a breathless rush. Without hesitation, they plunged into the night.

"Lead us," Ayesha commanded the fairy.

The glowing Enchanting Fairy darted ahead, a beacon in the dark. They followed, hearts pounding, until the village ended and the forest swallowed them whole.

Then—an invisible wall.

They staggered back, their path blocked by unseen force.

A small frog appeared, hopping frantically. Suleiman, impatient, kicked it—

The creature slammed into the barrier, then rebounded, swelling to the size of a horse.

Ayesha gasped. The frog—now a hulking beast—gestured with webbed fingers.

Climb.

Suleiman understood first. He gripped Ayesha’s waist and hauled her onto the creature’s slick back.

The frog crouched—

And leapt, shattering the unseen wall like glass.

Suleiman and Ayesha clung to the frog’s back as it inflated its belly with air, then—with a mighty leap—propelled them hundreds of feet upward, clearing the invisible barrier in a single bound. For a breathless moment, they hovered in the air before plummeting back toward the earth.

Below, King Louis’s guards spotted the falling frog and loosed a volley of arrows. One struck true, piercing the creature’s belly. With a hiss of escaping air, the frog shrank instantly, leaving Ayesha and Suleiman tumbling through the air, limbs entangled. At such speed, the impact would shatter bone.

But then—threads.

Spiders, materializing from nowhere, wove a web between the trees in the blink of an eye. The lovers crashed into the silken net, gasping as it stretched but held.

No time to recover. The guards closed in, binding Suleiman to a tree and dragging Ayesha into the brush. Hands pinned her limbs as one leered over her, fingers grasping for her bodice—

Whish.

A sword materialized midair, severing the guard’s wrist before vanishing again. The remaining men scrambled, blades drawn, but the unseen weapon danced faster, a silver blur decapitating them one by one. The heads rolled to Ayesha’s feet as the sword embedded itself in the earth before her, quivering.

Trembling, Ayesha knelt before it in gratitude.

A flicker of light—and an old man stood beside the blade. His face was radiant, his smile kind.

"Fear ill suits a girl of your courage, Ayesha," he said, voice like wind through leaves. "Press onward, and you will prevail."

"Who—who are you?" she whispered.

The old man’s eyes twinkled. "I am of the Djinn. Once, this forest sang with blossoms and birdsong—a paradise. But since Louis seized the throne, his cruelty has poisoned it. Now, only the black roses bloom here." He gestured to the gnarled trees. "They are not flowers, but warnings. And your father… he has seen what lies beneath."

Ayesha leaned forward, her voice trembling with urgency. "What dark secret do those black roses hide?"

The old Djinn’s expression darkened. "Those roses are born of evil. To make them bloom, King Louis sacrifices young maidens at the cusp of womanhood. First, he defiles them. Then, he binds them to the earth, pierces them with arrows, and lets their blood soak the soil. From that cursed ground, the black roses grow."

Ayesha’s stomach twisted.

"The roses produce a rare nectar," the Djinn continued, "a powerful elixir that magnifies a man’s lust a hundredfold. Louis drinks it—and that is how he sustains his endless hunger for flesh. But the petals hold something worse: the deadliest poison known to man. A single drop on an arrowhead can slay an army. That is why none dare challenge him."

Ayesha clenched her fists. "Then how do we destroy him? How do we save the kingdom—and those girls?"

The Djinn pulled the sword from the earth and placed it in her hands. "Only a warrior as fearless as you can end this. This blade has a singular power: one strike is all it takes to vanquish darkness. Call its name, and it will appear. Otherwise, it remains unseen."

As if to prove his words, the sword vanished from her grip.

The Djinn rested a hand on her head. "Go without fear. When the hour is dire, I will stand beside you."

Then—he was gone.

Ayesha sprinted to where Suleiman was bound, slicing his ropes free. Without hesitation, she summoned Enchanting Fairy. The golden butterfly materialized in a shimmer of light.

"Lead us," Ayesha commanded. "The night deepens, and my father’s time runs out."

The golden butterfly fluttered ahead, its luminous glow casting flickering shadows on the twisted trees as Ayesha and Suleiman followed. Suddenly, Suleiman caught Ayesha’s wrist, pulling her to a stop.

He turned her gently, then slipped a ring onto her finger—a band of silver etched with tiny, swirling runes. Pressing a kiss to her knuckles, he murmured, "I forgot to give this to you earlier. If there’s no time later… I wanted you to have it now."

Ayesha’s smile was soft as she pulled him into an embrace. "There will be time," she whispered. "We have so much of life left to walk together."

Hand in hand, they pressed onward.

Deep in the castle, King Louis was drowning in his own depravity.

His latest prey—a sixteen-year-old girl named Mitu—huddled in the corner of his bed, her body wracked with sobs. "P-please," she begged, clutching her torn shawl. "Let me go back to my parents. I’m like a daughter to you—if you’d married, you might’ve had a girl my age by now!"

The king’s face twisted. He seized her wrist, yanking her onto his lap. "You dare lecture me?" His breath reeked of black rose wine as his fingers traced her collarbone. "You have two choices: share my bed, or share your neck with my blade." He unsheathed his dagger, pressing the cold steel to her throat. "Decide."

Mitu squeezed her eyes shut. "A woman’s honor is worth more than her life," she whispered. "Strike, then."

Louis raised the blade and shouted

BANG. BANG. BANG.

A furious pounding shook the chamber door.

King Louis threw open the chamber door, his face dark with fury. A soldier stood panting before him, his armor splattered with mud.

"Your Majesty—intruders have breached the Dead Forest's invisible barrier. They slaughtered our guards. This is no ordinary threat."

Louis's fingers twitched toward the dagger at his belt. The black roses' power had never been challenged—until now.

"Gather every man," he growled. "Burn the forest if you must. Bring me their heads."

With a sweep of his cloak, he stormed toward the stables, his mind racing. Who dares defy me?

The moment Ayesha touched the black rose, the petals twisted into serpents—slick, obsidian coils tightening around her limbs. A hidden tunnel yawned open, swallowing her whole before Suleiman could take a step.

Inside, the air reeked of damp earth and iron. And there, slumped unconscious against the tunnel wall—her father.

When he stirred, his eyes widened in horror. "Why did you come here?" he rasped. "This is a death trap—no one escapes!"

Ayesha gripped his hands. "Listen, Abba. Remember Enchanting Fairy? The fairy who stayed with me after Amma’s death? She gave me magic. And the Djinn in the forest—he gave me this."

The sword materialized in her grip, its blade humming with latent power.

"The world bends to tyrants because good men endure their cruelty," she said, voice steady. "But no more. Suleiman fights with us. The Djinn fights with us. Even the gods are watching. We will win."

The snakes struck—coiling tighter, fangs bared—Shing!

The blade moved like lightning, severing scaled flesh. The tunnel shuddered, its mouth gaping open as sunlight spilled in. Suleiman’s arms hauled them free just as the earth sealed shut behind them.

Louis stormed through the Dead Forest, his soldiers fanning out. "Find them!" he snarled. "The girl dies first—slowly."

He didn’t notice the golden butterfly darting overhead…

ing Louis had already arrived with his soldiers. Upon seeing Ayesha, he ordered his troops to eliminate them.

As soon as the soldiers received the king’s command, they unleashed hundreds of arrows toward Ayesha, Suleiman, and her father.

Suleiman shouted, "Ayesha, quickly rub the ring I placed on your finger!"

Without delay, Ayesha rubbed the ring, and instantly, an invisible wall formed around her, Suleiman, and her father. The arrows struck the barrier and fell harmlessly to the ground, unable to touch anyone.

However, King Louis possessed an even more powerful arrow. He fired it, and the projectile pierced through the invisible shield, striking Suleiman in the chest. Instantly, Suleiman collapsed to the ground, writhing in unbearable pain.

Ayesha was distraught. As a tear formed in her eye, a grain of sand entered it, causing tears to stream down her face. A few drops fell onto Suleiman’s mouth, and miraculously, all his pain vanished in an instant.

Without wasting another moment, Ayesha closed her eyes and envisioned a sword. Immediately, a visible sword materialized and began severing the heads of the king’s soldiers.

After slaying all the soldiers, the sword clashed with King Louis’ blade and shattered into two pieces, falling to the ground.

King Louis advanced, grabbing Ayesha by her hair, and sneered, "No one in this world has been born who can defeat me. Now, prepare to die by my hand."

As he finished speaking, Louis drew a sharp dagger from his waist and pressed it against Ayesha’s throat—when suddenly, a sword thrust through his chest from behind. The blade emerged from his body, wielded by the old Jinn.

The elderly Jinn declared, "Sacrificing a wicked king like you, Louis, in exchange for the happiness of thousands is no sin."

King Louis convulsed before collapsing lifelessly to the ground.

Instantly, the black roses of the cursed forest withered and crumbled. Their dark hue slowly transformed into vibrant red. Birds returned, filling the once-dead woods with life and song. The forest had been reborn.

The kingdom’s people, overjoyed, entrusted Ayesha with the responsibility of ruling. From then on, the kingdom flourished like spring, radiant and full of color.

With the chapter of the black roses closed, Ayesha became the beloved jewel of the people’s eyes. Under her wisdom and leadership, the citizens lived without fear or worry, embracing a life of peace and serenity.