Books Like Flowers In The Attic Novels & Stories

His eyes alone fill me with warmth, and I return his smile as we get to the attic. The place looks . . . magical. There are tall shelves on the walls, filled with all sorts of books and jarred plants and even animals swimming in strange potions. There are glass jars and vials in the middle of the room, some of them bubbling over heat and some of them just stacked and stored. What catches my eye is the basin that sits in the middle of the table, which is full of swirling white smoke. Gammie motions us to sit in the little cushions on the floor as we huddle in the corner.

The kind that demonstrated full knowledge of the person being celebrated rather than a general understanding of what birthdays were supposed to look like. There were yellow flowers on the kitchen table. Not peonies. The small bright ones she had pointed at in the florist window two months ago and said those are happy flowers, which Elena had confirmed was an accurate characterization and which Kael had noted and remembered. There was a book on the table beside the flowers. Old cloth-covered with illustrations in faded ink. A companion volume to the folk story collection from the Singapore bookshop, which he had sourced through the shop's international ordering system with the thoroughness he

As I pushed open the creaking attic door, a hushed silence enveloped me, broken only by the faint rustle of pages and the distant echoes of a forgotten world. The room before me was a sanctuary of knowledge, a treasure trove of dreams waiting to be unlocked. My eyes widened, taking in the sight that unfolded before me. Tall shelves, adorned with elegant engravings, reached towards the heavens, seemingly infinite in their reach. Books of all shapes and sizes stood proudly, their spines beckoning me closer. The scent of old parchment and ink infused the air, embracing me like a long-lost friend.

A shape slips into my thoughts, late on a Thursday. It does not knock. Up there in the sunroom, I hold a plant book but do not really read. Light pours down through the panels, heating my arms. A drawing catches my eye - strange flower, opens only at night - and then everything splits apart. A shape appears - soft, light-colored flower parts. Then without warning, the air carries a burnt scent.

The packages were waiting outside my apartment door. I stopped, keys in hand, staring at them. Two large shopping bags with expensive boutique logos I recognized, and a beautiful arrangement that made my breath catch,a book bouquet. Actual books wrapped like flowers, their spines carefully arranged to create something both literary and romantic. A card was attached. For when you need an escape. And something to wear while you read them. - L My chest tightened. How had these gotten here before me? I’d left work twenty minutes ago, driven straight home, and yet…

After a moment of awkward silence, I made a move to leave. "I'm looking for a book. Might you help me find it?" she requested. "Of course," I said, smiling. "What type of book are you looking for?" I asked, glancing at a shelf. "A book about flowers," she responded as she turned around, going through some shelves. Trailing after her, I spoke, "You won't find it there." With that, I went around the shelves until I came across a specific one. Picking out a book, I went back and handed it to her. "The first pages says a lot about daffodils," I mentioned.

she says, behind me, but I shake my head. “We can keep the necklace.” I force a smile, sniffling back, and she nods, holding the book in her arms, but when she takes a look at me, she freezes. “Nina” “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Why don’t we go instead?” I ask. Looking at the flowers, but I freeze in my steps when I get inside. The house is full of red and white rose petals, and surprisingly, there are also marigolds on the table.

It was at the playground, when she’d come to pick up Lisa–the extra cute little girl I’d instantly fallen in love with the moment I laid eyes on her. “Of course I do. How‘s little Lisa?” “She’s good. And she won’t stop talking about you.” “She’s a nice kid.” I admitted, “She is,” Rose agreed, before her gaze shifted to the book in my hands. “Interesting selection,” she commented, with a small smile and I looked down at the book I'd picked. ‘Beginners Guide; How to Ruin a Man in Bed.’ Out of all the books in the library, I just had to pick this one. Heat rose to my cheeks—good thing it was hidden beneath the curtain of my hair.

“She said there's a storybook in the attic, but I never learned to read, so I never knew what was inside.” “I should feel warmth when I hear that… but whenever she told me those things, all I felt was anger. Anger at my mother for leaving me—to face all your hatred alone.” Hilda took a deep breath, remembering. “Maybe you never noticed, but I gave you gifts every day. Most were flowers—your favorites—because I had no money and didn’t know what else to give. I grew those flowers myself and left them at your window.” “Stop this madness,” the old man said through gritted teeth. “Come down.”