A Flowery Path For The Devastated Male Lead Mga Nobela at Kwento

The gunshot cracks the night wide open. The garden gasps with us the roses quiver, petals shivering loose as Greco’s head snaps back. A red bloom bursts across the air, spattering onto the white lilies behind him. His body folds, crumpling among the flowers like a toppled statue, blood seeping into the soil, staining beauty into ruin. Valentina collapses, her hand falling limp, slick with sweat and gunpowder. Her sobs choke in her throat, broken and hollow. I stand over her, my shadow long across the corpse, and I let a smirk cut across my face.

Lightning tore across the stormy sky, bathing the forest in a blinding flash of white. Rainwater trickled down his dark hair before sliding over the sharp contours of his face. His unwavering gaze remained locked onto hers, calm, patient. Predatory. "I told you." A low chuckle escaped his lips as he took a slow step forward. Claire instinctively stepped back until her spine collided with the tree trunk. There was nowhere left to run. "It's pointless to escape," he murmured, his voice almost gentle. "I will always find you, my Cherry."

A land door was opened at the center of the entrances where children, girls, and teenagers ran out heading for their playing ground. One main path that was leading from the huge gate to the main gate door of the entrance was specially designed for new visitors as no one was taking its path. The path was built with pink Pasco bricks creating patterns of blue diamond joining each end with each other in a straight line from one end to the other, the two ends of the road had narrow footpaths with large flower pots arranged beautifully on each side. Roses, Iris, Lavenders, Lilacs, and lilies these flowers stood facing the road with some of them lifting their heads to the sky as though they stood

Anastasia slides into my arms and I pick her up. “Death to the Gastillos.” The old man shouts, and bounds towards me. My mate whimpers with fear, turning to press her face into my chest. My arms tighten, never wanting to let go. Tears wet my shirt, and her fingernails- oh so pretty with pink rose design on them- dig into my fore arms. I raise a single eyebrow at the man, detaching my shadow from my body. The janitor takes a pause in his step, noticing the larger, more natural version of myself. I don’t look at it, stroking the hair of my mate to ease her tremors.

Ethan stops mid-sentence and looks, which she finds satisfying in the particular way of someone whose descriptions have been trusted enough to act on. "You weren't exaggerating," he says. "I never exaggerate about cities," she says. "I have too much professional respect for them." They walk the north path with the late afternoon light coming through the blossoms — pink and white and the particular translucent quality of petals lit from behind — and Valentina thinks about the version of herself who ran this path every morning for eighteen months and never once stopped to look at the cherry trees. Not because they weren't worth looking at. Because she was always moving toward the next thing.

The tranquil setting of an evening gradually came into view before his eyes as the time passed. Every day, he takes in the splendor of the setting that he fashioned. But honestly, he always felt that this scene had nothing special to hold his mind. Perhaps, he was longing for the figure of the owner of this place, not the beauty of the scene. As he stretched his hand out in front of him, a flower suddenly dislodged itself from the branch and flew into his hand. This rose, which is a red velvet rose, is stunning. There is nothing that can be done to improve the shade of red that appears on these petals; they have reached their full potential. It is beautiful, fragile, yet thorny; this beauty

He stood there and watch the empty field as sadness envelops his heart, and there was no reasonable explanation for it. Seeing the field like this made him believe that, there is no way the girl will come back here. He walks around the field, watching every corner of it, trying to picture the image of the girl in the field. After a long stay, he decides to go back home and as he walks back, he saw a single purple flower of rear specie, standing all tall though still at a nursing stage. He stares at the flower for what seems like over five minutes before taking steps toward it as he goes down and plunges the flowering plant off the ground it making sure it should get destroyed in the process.

My mind is not at rest , knowing that Rosemary is alone and is cold. After excusing myself , I walk through the maze like garden. It place is truly magnificent – the flowers , the white stones that are decorated on each pathways , the little lamps that outline the pathways for people at night ; it is imply amazing. I make my way to the water fountain , to find that she is no longer there. Though the palace is safe , I can not help but get a bad feeling. Something catches my eyes , droplets of blood painted onto the white stones. I follow the droplets till my eyes lay on a frightful sight.

I brought it closer to my chest as I couldn't get enough of the vanilla mixed lavender scent. The flower smells so nice. I wonder who dropped it carelessly on the floor. I decided to return it back to its spot when my gaze landed on the white small piece of paper in between the flowers. I pushed my two fingers into the flowers, and brought out the white paper which was rolled up. [Please forgive me. I regretted my action. My life is void without you. I need back in my life. Please come back to me. By your lovely mate, Damon]

He inclined his neck to the side, blinking his eyes before he held out his hand, letting the flowers float around me, magically suspended as though it was held by some twine. I am still shocked at how the flowers float around me that when he speaks, I jumped slightly for his voice is full of sadness, “This is an act of responsibility for I have willingness to become better. Humans call it an apology,” His sad stormy eyes stared at me with remorse, yet his face remains emotionless and handsome. I took the flowers one by one and asked, “What’s this flower?” “Hyacinth,” he gave me a small smile before dragging himself out of the room, his form weary . I caressed the flower, settling down on th