Arti Bunga Alstroemeria Novels & Stories

asked Keira with a twinkle in her eyes. "Just a moment, princess." Langit took something in his car, a bouquet of flowers that he had prepared earlier gave to Keira. "Sky..." "Your favorite, pink rose." Keira received the flower with a happy feeling, kissing it repeatedly. Her face lited up, her eyes twinkeled. Keira always liked when Langit gave her pink roses, a flower that was always beautiful to her and had a story. "Pink roses, not pink marmots." Langit smiled warmly then kissed Keira's forehead softly. "I like pink, because in that color, I seem could see you."

She turned, only to see Alaric standing there with a sheepish grin and a bouquet of rare snow lotus flowers in his hands. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone cool and indifferent. “I thought I’d bring you these,” he said, holding out the bouquet. “They reminded me of you, rare and beautiful.” She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You do realize I grow these here, right?” Alaric glanced at the nearby plants, realizing she was right. For a moment, he looked genuinely embarrassed, scratching the back of his neck. Then he grinned. “Consider it the thought that counts?”

When there’s finally a lull in drink orders, I walk over to Cassandra. “Hey, Cass, can I ask you something?” “Sure you can,” she says while wiping down the bar. “You love plants and gardening and all that jazz; could you tell me what flower this is?” I ask, pulling out my phone and showing her a picture of the flowers Jartre sent me. She glances at the picture and smiles, “Oh, those are beautiful! Those are called aster. Did someone give those to you?” “My boyfriend did,” I say, beam with pride, even though calling Jartre my boyfriend feels weird.

She wasn't my people; she was born of my enemy, but still… They formed a horizontal line a few feet apart from us, they put their candle lights to the ground, and brought forward the basket filled with flowers. Each of these flowers was a rose, tulip, carnation, orchid, and aster. From the left on how they stood was how I'd mention. The sobbing little child held the carnation flower. I ordered men to take out the flowers from each of their baskets.

A uniformed delivery man stepped in, holding a massive bouquet of unusual, breathtaking flowers—deep blue petals with pale silver streaks that shimmered like frost. "Delivery for Mrs. Aisla Reyes," he said with a polite nod, placing the card in my hand before turning on his heel and leaving. Before I could open it, Nico walked in. His presence, always commanding, filled the room in a blink. Immaculate as ever in a tailored suit, his jaw freshly shaven and his hair slightly tousled. "You're up," he said, voice smooth, almost casual. "I got these..." I held up the bouquet. "I know," he replied, already pulling something from his coat pocket. "They're called moon orchids. Only bloom once a year

He thought that you could gather 50 different kinds in half an hour. In late April 1970, the whole atmosphere was full of the sweet, powerful scent and dwarf gorge blooming everywhere in golden profusion. There were, too, anemones scarlet, and crimson, aloes with spires of pink star-shaped flowers, helianthe-mums just opening, orchids purple and white, mallows, stitehwort, Star of Bethlehem, vetch, viper’s bugloss, pimpernels bright-blue and vermillion, a purple upright flower something like overgrown self-heal, rest harrow, poppies, wild roses, and those white flowers of the buttercup family with pale yellow centers which grow in cottage gardens in England, and are sometimes known as “poach

“By offering a flavor that is not just delicious, but meaningful. A flavor that connects us to the earth, to each other, to our own true selves.” He looked at the bunga telang flower in Bima’s hand. “That flower,” Kai explained, “while beautiful and balanced, holds a subtle, calming essence. It can be used to soothe, to gently bring one back to their senses. It’s not a weapon, but a balm. A way to counteract manufactured peace with genuine tranquility.” Riska was already analyzing the flower’s energy signature. “The calming properties are significant. It’s rich in anthocyanins, known for their antioxidant and potentially anti-inflammatory effects. It could indeed counteract a synthetic sedat

“Mr. Sterling, the flowers you picked this time are nice! They’re worth fifty bucks a small bunch. Last time, we picked so many and only got fifty something.” Tiesto glanced at the bouquet in her hands—worth nearly $1,400, imported from the Netherlands. The roses were a rare premium variety called Red Naomi, grown in limited quantities. If he told her the truth, Ella would surely worry and lose her appetite. He nodded. “Not bad.” Ella looked him over. Though his clothes were plain, his style was impeccable, and his aura was extraordinary. Having a man like him accompany her on something as trivial as picking flowers felt like a gross waste of talent.

Aria pulled her thick woven shawl tighter around her shoulders, her boots crunching softly against the frost-kissed ground. In her hands, she carried no store-bought arrangements, no grand, ostentatious wreaths meant for public display. She held a simple, hand-tied bundle of flora, gathered personally from the deepest corners of her greenhouse and the wild edges of the forest. There was sprigs of silver-leafed yarrow for the mending of deep wounds; stalks of wild purple lavender for the quieting of troubled minds; a cluster of dried white sage for the clearing of shadows; and at the very center, a single, vibrant bloom of blue star-thistle—a stubborn, resilient flower that thrived only in th

I step aside to let him in and he leans down to place a gentle kiss on my lips as he passes by on his way to the kitchen. I’m sniffing the flowers as I follow him into the kitchen. “Where in the world did you find flowers in late January?” He turns to me with a smile. “They are called Winter Aconite and they grow wild in my territory. Every time I see them, the beautiful yellow color reminds me of Artemis’s eyes.” At that, Artemis pushes forward to show off the color of her eyes. Liam steps closer to me, putting his hands on my hips, his eyes darkening with Cyran pushing forward. “There they are, those beautiful eyes that I love.”