Lahat ng Kabanata ng You Can Ask The Flowers: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

The Boston & Maine locomotive exhaled steam like a dying dragon as Iris clutched her single traveling case and stepped onto the platform at Millbrook station, three days and a lifetime removed from Mrs. Pemberton's sewing room. The October wind carried scents that had no business existing—night-blooming jasmine in broad daylight, roses that should have died with the first frost, and underneath it all, something green and wild that made her pulse quicken with recognition she couldn't name. Only four other passengers disembarked at the tiny station, their faces bearing the particular weariness that came from traveling to places the world had forgotten. A young woman clutched a baby wrapped in military-issued blankets, her wedding ring catching the weak afternoon sun as she searched the empty platform for a husband who might never come home. An elderly man with a preacher's collar helped her with her bags, murmuring comfort in Latin that sounded more like prayer than conversation. Iris

The sound of gravel crunching under automobile tires pulled Iris away from Eleanor's journals, though her mind remained tangled in the mystery of April 1892. She smoothed her traveling dress and checked her reflection in the study's gilt mirror, noting how the morning light seemed to catch strange colors in her dark hair. Had it always held those copper highlights, or was the house already working its peculiar magic on her appearance?"Miss Bloom?" A man's voice carried through the entrance hall, cultured and professionally warm. "I'm Thomas Whitmore of Whitmore Associates."Iris emerged from the study to find a gentleman of perhaps forty-five years examining the botanical illustrations with obvious familiarity. He wore a well-tailored suit that spoke of success, though his face bore the weathered quality of someone who spent considerable time outdoors. When he turned to greet her, his eyes held the same careful neutrality she'd noticed in Mrs. Hartwell's expression."Mr. Whitmore," I

The morning after Damien's kiss left Iris feeling as though she existed in two worlds simultaneously—the practical daylight realm where she catalogued Eleanor's possessions and attempted to appear like a respectable spinster settling into her inheritance, and the electric twilight universe where impossible men touched her face with reverent fingers and plants sang lullabies of seduction.She woke tangled in sheets that still carried the scent of night-blooming jasmine, though no such flowers grew near her bedroom windows. Her lips felt tender, her skin hypersensitive to the cotton nightgown that suddenly seemed far too restrictive for her transformed body. When she caught her reflection in Eleanor's vanity mirror, she barely recognized herself—the prim Boston seamstress had been replaced by a woman whose eyes held secrets and whose mouth curved with the memory of kisses that defied natural law."Good morning, Miss Iris," Mrs. Hartwell called from the kitchen as Iris descended the stair

The conservatory transformed as darkness fell, becoming something that belonged more to dreams than to the waking world. What had appeared merely unusual in daylight now revealed its true supernatural nature. Flowers that had seemed pale and unremarkable burst into luminescent bloom, their petals radiating soft light that painted the glass walls in shifting patterns of silver and gold. Vines that had hung dormant against the iron framework now moved with languid grace, their leaves rustling with whispers that sounded almost like laughter.Iris stood at the threshold, still wearing the practical wool dress she'd chosen for her exploration of Millbrook, but feeling overdressed for the ethereal world that beckoned beyond the conservatory doors. The air itself seemed different here, thicker, more alive, carrying scents that had no earthly equivalent. Jasmine and roses, yes, but underneath lay something else: the green smell of growing things mixed with an electric sweetness that made her

The hidden sections of the conservatory revealed themselves to Iris like secrets whispered in a lover's ear—slowly, tantalizingly, with the promise of revelations that would forever change her understanding of what was possible in the space between science and magic.Following the ethereal guidance of the botanical voices that had become as familiar as her own heartbeat, Iris discovered that Eleanor's greenhouse extended far beyond what was visible from the main entrance. Behind panels of frosted glass that appeared purely decorative lay chambers devoted to specimens that defied not just botanical classification but the very laws of nature itself.The first hidden room took her breath away. Here, suspended in crystal vessels filled with luminescent liquid, grew flowers that seemed to contain captured starlight within their petals. Their roots didn't extend into soil but into networks of silver threads that pulsed with their own internal rhythm, creating a web of energy that connected