Burning Flower Novels & Stories

Valentina’s POV I knelt on the edge of the terrace, the jungle pulsing with heat and humidity around us. The garden shimmered like a fever dream. Petals the color of blood and flame swayed in the misty air—flor de fuego, the fabled “flower of fire.” I couldn’t look away. It was so beautiful. I reached up to brush a strand of hair from my face when my bracelet—an 18k gold filled stainless steel one slipped from my wrist.

I cannot burn. Walking into the flames, as my garments reduce to ash, I am soon clothed in nothing more than my scales. Reaching out with my senses, I try to find the edges of the fire. It is expansive, bigger than I was expecting, stretching almost back to the treeline and starting to wrap around the castle, into the village below, following the path of the Starfire jasmine that was in full bloom at the beginning of the Faire. Now dry and fragile, it makes a perfect kindling to the flames as they lick their way into the shops and homes of the common folk downhill.

Then, I saw it - a thin wisp of smoke rising from the middle of the forest, curling lazily into the sky. "Smoke," I said, my voice catching in my throat as I pointed towards the source of the disturbance. Without hesitation, I began to run towards the smoke, my heart pounding in my chest. As we drew closer, the smell of burning vegetation filled the air, stinging my nostrils and making my eyes water. My stomach churned with dread as I realized what lay before us - the belladonna flowers, our only hope, engulfed in flames. "No, no, no," I muttered, my voice trembling with disbelief and horror. I felt a surge of desperation welling up inside me, urging me to rush forward and try to save the pr

" I grabbed a handful of the flowers, shoving them into an evidence bag. I grabbed the logbook. "We burn the rest," I said. Damian nodded. He grabbed the jerry cans of gasoline Elias had been too cowardly to use. He splashed the fuel over the beds, his face a mask of grim determination. The smell of gas mixed with the sweet scent of the flowers, creating a nauseating cocktail. "Light it," Damian ordered. I pulled a lighter from my pocket. I flicked it. The flame danced, small and yellow against the purple gloom. I tossed it. WHOOSH. The fire caught instantly, roaring up the stalks of the monkshood. The purple flowers withered and blackened, their deadly beauty consumed by cleansing heat. "Le

If Grey had sent the flowers here, Grey already knew her true identity. Realizing this fact, Keyara's face became gloomy and restless. The smoke rose high into the sky. Thousands of flowers were Burned in the side yard of the house. The maids whispered, feeling regretful. They whispered and speculated among themselves. Every rose petal that entered the flames was charred and turned to ashes. The burning of the roses was witnessed by Keyara, and she wiped away her tears. In the midst of the gardeners, Keyara saw Ares slip in among them, giving instructions.

After a brief silence, detective Jones broke the silence and asked "what do you think maria?“ “About what?” “This, of course!” detective Jones said increasing his tone. “Calm down partner. Anyways, I think we're dealing with a nasty serial killer that has an obsession with flowers” Maria joked. “It's not just that. But wait, I think am beginning to get the pieces, according to the woman, a white rose represents chastity and purity,now a blood stain on it would mean what? The chastity or purity have been stained and how is that possible?”

"But the Trial of Fire is for the uncertain. My children are not a question. They are the answer." ​I reached into the small pouch at my waist and pulled out a handful of crushed white petals—Lunar Lily, a rare flower that only grows where the True Bride walks. I tossed them into the air. Instead of falling, they ignited in mid-air, burning with a brilliant, cool silver light that didn't smoke.

“If it’s another dead animal, I’m lighting you on fire.” “Lesson learned,” I muttered, then revealed the flower. A single flamepetal, its orange-red glow still faintly pulsing. “Rare, sacred to witches, grows only during solstice droughts. I had to hike halfway up Blackthorn Hill to get it.” She blinked. “You brought me a flamepetal?” “Well,” I said. “I didn’t climb a hill for my health.” She crossed her arms. “So is this flirting or apologizing?” “Both,” I said without missing a beat.

It smelled of smoke and its pleasure had no bounds as if it were the perfume of rare flowers, new to the garden, obtained with infinite patience. Many years ago, during a forest fire, the gardener discovered that roots continue burning beneath the ground long after the fire had supposedly been extinguished. It was then decided to cultivate a garden of highly flammable roots, controlling their subterranean fire beds with buried channels of water in such a way that flames sprouted to the surface like bouquets of fire flowers igniting the thicket of trees. She walked in the garden of underground fires, sensing through her skin the heat flowed slowly beneath the ground and on the ground. And whe

"There's nothing more brave than seeing a candle struggling to stay alive in the wind" His Flower's Point Of View The soldiers cuffed the young, decent looking women who were found in the village which had been burned down along with the remaining corpses. I was sadly one of the unfortunate ones whose life wasn't claimed by death. Chains were wrapped around each of the girls' wrists, including mine. The horses trotted ahead of us, pulling at the chains that were already burning into our sore skin. My eyes desperately tried to find the familiar pair of hazel eyes which brought me so much comfort.