ashesandpetals

[ashesandpetals]

I think you'd like this story:

"The Reason of Her Death" by asterrosewriter at Wattpad

Give it a try!

[ashesandpetals]

He waits, not for blood, but for the one who made eternity worth it. 🖤🦇

[ashesandpetals]

Me, Trying to Write a Happy Story...

I keep trying to write happy stories.

You know, the kind where people feel joy when things are good, cry when things are bad, and don’t spiral into an existential crisis every five minutes. Just normal people doing normal emotional things.

But my brain? My brain said:

"What if... trauma?"

So instead, I end up with characters who are emotionally unavailable, mentally exhausted, and deeply suspicious of any form of happiness.

Something good happens?

They don’t celebrate.

They squint at it like,

"Is this a trap? Am I being punk’d by the universe?"

Because obviously, good things can’t just happen. Not to them. Not without consequences. Happiness, in their world, is basically a horror movie jump scare waiting to go off.

Anyway, I tried.

I failed.

Again.

But at least my emotionally-damaged fictional gremlins are thriving.

Sort of.

(Okay not really)

Read my work on Wattpad👇

[ashesandpetals]

The Things That You Said

Why don't you cry,

Just once in a while,

So I know you're not dead—

At least, not yet.

The way that you hide

Your pain in a smile

It makes me wonder

‘Bout the things that you said.

Like the world's not what it seems

Like we're living in a dream

And the happiness we seek

Is just a lullaby—

To help us die.

Beneath the quiet autumn sky,

You're a fool, being wise—

As you silently judge,

Both the living and the dead.

But your vacant eyes

Keep me sleepless at night,

And I still don't know why you said

All the things that you said.

Like the world's not what it seems

Like we're living in a dream

And the happiness we seek

Is nothing but a lie

As we're all born to die

- By Aster Rose

🖋️ Read more of my original fiction, poetry, and slow-burning emotional chaos:

➤ Ashes and Petals on Substack

_ _ _ _ _

📖 Follow my ongoing poetic tragic romance novel The Reason of Her Death on Wattpad:

Ashes and Petals. Love and Ruin

[ashesandpetals]

Let Me In

(a short horror fiction by Aster Rose)

Some doors should never be opened…

It starts with a knock.

Maya doesn’t move. The storm outside is loud enough to pretend she didn’t hear it. Thunder crawls across the ceiling. The power’s still out, just like the rest of her life.

Knock. Again. Soft, patient.

She drags herself off the mattress, pads barefoot across the cold floor. No peephole. Just instinct. Just dread.

She opens the door.

“Hey,” Ethan says, rain dripping off his hair like he just walked out of a sad movie. He holds up a half-soggy paper bag. “Chamomile. Thought you could use some.”

She stares. His smile doesn’t falter. Of course it doesn’t. Ethan always knew how to wait.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says.

“You didn’t block me. That counts for something, right?”

That damn smile. The one that used to make her feel chosen. Now it just makes her tired.

“Power’s out,” she mutters.

“I know.” He steps in before she can say yes. Just like he used to.

He lights a candle in the corner, like he’s done it a thousand times before. He probably has.

She watches as he pulls out her old kettle, fills it from the tap like he still lives here. Like he never left bruises behind—just teacups and apologies.

“You’re still using that ugly mug I got you,” he says.

“It was the only clean one.”

He doesn’t ask if she’s okay. He tells her.

“You’ve been through a lot lately. That post online—about Buddy…” His voice falters, just the right amount. “I’m so sorry, Maya. I know how much you loved him.”

Her throat closes.

She found Buddy by the roadside two nights ago. Poisoned. No witnesses. Just a hollow in her chest where the bark used to be.

“He wouldn’t’ve run off like that,” she whispers, more to herself.

Ethan nods solemnly, gaze a little too steady. “Maybe he was scared. There’ve been fireworks lately.”

“There weren’t any that night.”

“Still. Accidents happen.”

That pause. Too smooth. Too practiced.

Her skin crawls.

She drinks the tea anyway. It tastes like memory and rot.

He’s sitting on the couch now, leaning back like he owns the silence.

“I’ve changed,” he says softly. “I’ve been working on myself. Therapy, even.”

“Hmm.”

“I know I messed things up. Said things. Did things. I didn’t mean for them to hurt.”

She doesn’t say anything.

She’s thinking of her job. Of the anonymous messages HR received about “inappropriate conduct.” The rumors. The way her boss looked at her like she was filth. She’s thinking of how it all started after she blocked Ethan the first time.

He sips his tea.

“I still care about you,” he adds. “Even if you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” she says.

He looks up, hopeful.

“I just… stopped expecting anything real from you.”

He asks if he can stay.

“Just for the night,” he says. “Storm’s bad, and—”

“And your place is twenty minutes away,” she finishes.

That smile again. “You remembered.”

She nods. Leaves him the couch. Retreats to her room. Closes the door, but doesn’t lock it. No point. The bolt broke months ago.

She sits on the bed, still dressed. The power hums faintly back to life.

A flicker.

Then—her phone buzzes.

Ben: Hey, I know this is random but—did Ethan ever have a key to the kennel? I remembered he used to joke about Buddy barking when he came over. Anyway, just seemed weird how Buddy got out… You okay?

She stares at it.

Another buzz.

Also, I talked to Jen. She said HR reopened your case. The email came from someone using Ethan’s Wi-Fi network. Thought you should know.

Her breath catches.

From the living room: a soft rustle. The couch creaks. Ethan, shifting in the dark.

She tucks the phone under her pillow. The screen goes black.

She lies down, still. Eyes wide open.

In the morning, the couch is empty.

The door’s ajar. A note on the counter, scrawled in that annoyingly elegant handwriting.

“Didn’t want to wake you. Call me if you need anything.”

She throws it in the trash.

Then takes it out again.

Stares.

🕳️ End.

Enjoyed this story?

🖋️ Read more of my original fiction, poetry, and slow-burning emotional chaos:

➤ Ashes and Petals on Substack

_ _ _ _ _

📖 Follow my ongoing tragic romance novel The Reason of Her Death:

➤ Read on Wattpad

Ashes and Petals. Love and rot.

[ashesandpetals]

Hey there, welcome to Aster Rose's creative space!

Yeah, that's me. Welcoming you to my secret garden ❤️

This is where I share the stories that stick with you. The quiet ones, the ones that live between grief and tenderness, the ones that just hit you.

I'm Aster Rose, and I write to understand things words can't quite capture. Here, you'll find:

Original fiction: Romantic, melancholic, and a bit strange.

Poetry: Soft, sorrowful, and shaped by memory.

Fanfiction: Emotional retellings and alternate takes.

Letters & thoughts: Personal reflections and feelings.

I write about love, loss, guilt, longing, and everything in between. If you like stories with a bit of a haunted feel, wrapped in atmosphere, and lyrical language, I hope something here resonates.

Thanks for stopping by! Feel free to linger, read, and just feel.

—Aster