Anthem Novels & Stories

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅• Caroline sat beside her mother, Agatha, flipping through the glossy pages of a wedding catalog, scanning the carefully curated arrangements of flowers. Soft sunlight poured through the window, illuminating the pages, casting a gentle glow over the delicate bouquets displayed on each spread. Agatha’s fingers lingered over an image of pristine white roses, her expression calm yet decisive. "White roses," she said firmly, tapping the picture with purpose. "Classic, elegant. They symbolize purity and new beginnings. They’re perfect."

Vernon had returned, looking exhausted. He was even holding a bouquet of fresh flowers. He walked toward me with no trace of guilt or remorse. "Avril, I brought you your favorite roses." Red roses represented sincere and passionate love. Right now, those flowers looked like a joke in Vernon's hands. I accepted the roses. Thinking that I was no longer angry, Vernon began to explain. "It's Peggy Cahill. She's been diagnosed with bone cancer. All she wants is to marry me.

Elder Martinez whispered. Athena stepped forward to the edge of the smoothed circle, and the elder waved everyone backwards. Before Lorraine could step forward, Athena suddenly raised the sceptre upwards. Its ruby was glowing with an otherworldly bluish hue, too brilliant for anyone to look straight at. She raised it higher, her head tilted skywards. Then an ancient language ripped out of her throat. Tharuun kael Mirai. Voraeth varen. Byr kaen. Byr oss. Byr sael.

"It's almost like the hard times circle 'round" "A couple drops and they all start coming down" "Yeah, I might feel defeated and I might hang my head" "I might be barely breathing but I'm not dead, no" A tear escaped my eye. I managed to stay still until I finish the third chorus. "I'm not gonna let it get me down" "I'm not gonna cry" "And I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight" "'Cause, tomorrow's another day" "And I'm thirsty anyway" "So bring on the rain"

I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said-"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear:

She wanted to search for the boy in incognito, it would be too suspicious of soldiers and Aldous sees her picking this specific boy. "Need a ride, M'lady?" A soldier carrying remains on his truck asked as they drove by Editha who was walking. "No, I just need some air." "Ah, yes, air will be filled with their filthy smell any minute now." He laughed. Editha just looked at the young soldier and continued walking, in about ten minutes she arrived on the riverbanks. Seeing the Chrysanthemum plantation from afar blinded by the sun she squints her eyes.

replied the person accompanying Ethan. As they neared the elevator, Ethan caught the sound of voices emanating from a nearby room. A bouquet of white chrysanthemums was flung out, and Forrest exclaimed, "Madelyn Jent, am I already dead? Why bring me chrysanthemums? Are you trying to curse me or something?" In Venturian culture, white chrysanthemums were symbolic of death and mourning, rather than life.

Ivy noticed Chloe panic face. ‘Dodge’ Chloe screamed. ‘Dodge??’ ivy asked with big question marks on her head, she didn’t even get to look in front of her when the ball hit her on her head hard. It felt like a dream as she fell a song named panis angelicus played in her brain (song played in catholic churches before taking the bread of Christ), was this the end? Ivy asked herself as she fell. Her head hit the floor and she felt something warm on her neck and also felt like something was tearing and putting her head back together.

POV: Beatrice The stems of my bouquet bent beneath my grip, each step down the aisle tightening my hold until the fragile blooms threatened to break. The sight before me was every bit as pristine as the planners had intended: white chairs perfectly aligned, delicate flowers swaying in the ocean breeze, and a makeshift altar framed by the endless horizon. Yet, for all its beauty, the scene felt hollow, each detail mocking me with its cheerful façade.