Aesthetic Flowers Novels & Stories

I edged closer to his gift. It was simply beautiful, and that was the only word I could have used to describe it. It was an assortment of different flowers—those I knew and those I could only hope to. There were lilies and roses and chrysanthemums, and tulips and oh so many colors and smells that somehow combined to form one beautiful mélange, the most beautiful thing anyone had given me yet. The fragrance flooded my senses and a warmth suffused my chest. “Tristan,” I said with emotion, “they’re beautiful.”

Myriad read, and I gasped. Stormee looked around confused, "Hydrangea? As the beautiful flowers they use in bouquets like weddings?" she asked, "Little flower, certain poisonous flowers are used for decorative purposes because they don't p[present harm unless consumed. Hydrangea Poisson is something close to what you call, in human terms, cyanide." Aelfred, the very botanist freak, explained.

I glanced at the flowers in my hands, they were indeed beautiful. "Black roses", I heard Atlene begin to speak. "A symbol of a bad omen to most people because of its color but when you look past that they are actually quite beautiful don't you think?", he said. "Hm, they are indeed very beautiful", I agreed as I brought the bouquet closer to my nose to sniff them. There was a long silence after that. Atlene didn't say anything else but I could feel his eyes on me. I turned to look at him.

Chapter 65 Max The room was transformed into something from a dream, something I never could have imagined. Flowers everywhere, on his desk, his dresser, the windowsill, even scattered across the floor in careful clusters. Roses in deep red that looked almost black in the dim light. Peonies in soft pink, their petals full and delicate. White lilies that seemed to glow. The sweet, heady scent filled the air so completely it made me dizzy, wrapped around me like a physical thing.

All of these were forming a montage in his head, an orgy of images driving him crazy, guiding his hand to his glass, to meet his mouth, to take all the scotch left, and to finish it before he landed himself back onto his seat. "How are you, Gina?" he managed. Again, he lifted his glass to drink his scotch. It was empty, of course. Gina noticed all of this. She smiled sweetly at him. At night, Eggs and Flowers was set differently. If it was filled with elegant vivacity and brightness both from the day's sun and the lighting that coupled it for breakfast time, in the evening it took on a drastic change. The lighting turned down low with the flicker of candles lighting up every fine linen-cloth

The skyline was pale today, dipped in soft grey, like the city itself was holding its breath. “No card,” I said quietly. “Just the flowers.” When we were seventeen, Aria told me she loved dahlias because they looked like stars that bloomed in the wrong sky. "They’re romantic in a quiet way," she’d said, twirling one in her fingers during some field trip I barely remember except her. "Like they’re trying to be noticed, but not too much. I like flowers that don’t beg." And of course she’d like something like that. Something beautiful, subtle, unyielding.

The short walk to the living room felt like an eternity. As I pushed open the door, a sight of unimaginable beauty greeted me. The room was awash with the vibrant hues of roses. Bouquets upon bouquets of them were scattered everywhere, their velvety petals in shades of red, pink, and white. The sweet, intoxicating fragrance of the roses filled the air, enveloping the room in a warm embrace. The roses were arranged meticulously, their stems trimmed to perfection, their leaves glossy and green. Each bouquet was wrapped in delicate tissue, tied with a satin ribbon. The room was so densely packed with these bouquets that there was barely any space to walk.

Behind us, a lush forest of vibrant green stretched endlessly, framing the scenery like a dream. Nestled within the trees was a vintage estate, its architecture timeless and elegant. Ordinarily, such an isolated house might have exuded an eerie vibe, but this one didn’t. Instead, it brimmed with life, its stone walls draped in blooming roses—lush, extravagant, and impossibly beautiful. Clusters of red, blush pink, soft yellow, and creamy white roses climbed in vibrant waves, creating what seemed like an ocean of blossoms. I gasped, excitement bubbling up as I recognized each bloom.

“Come on. Let’s make sure our customer is happy with his order.” Gia slipped her arm through Auri’s casually and began listing all the things she had brought specially for breakfast. She had even asked an acquaintance to come help them for the day. Because of that, the flower shop felt far busier than usual this morning. Five identical arrangements—soft peonies, white hydrangeas, and delicate rings of baby’s breath—were neatly lined up across the worktable. Ivory satin ribbons cascaded from each bouquet, giving the arrangements an elegant, understated charm.

He had opinions about dahlias and about eucalyptus and about the specific quality of autumnal arrangements that were full rather than minimal. He had opinions about colour palettes—warm tones, jewel tones, nothing pastel, nothing that looked like it was trying to be something it wasn't. He had opinions about the difference between flowers that looked arranged and flowers that looked like they'd grown that way, and he knew which of those he wanted. "I have opinions about flowers," he confirmed. "I thought so," Alexander said. "Fill in the Flowers tab." He filled in the Flowers tab. It turned into three pages.