Flower Knows Hand Mirror Novels & Stories

The latter responded to her smile with a wider ones, “It’s quite simpler than it looked. You only need to pour water late at night. It doesn’t need to be a lot. Contrary to other flowers, these carnage only need flower that is poured when the sky is dark.” “I see,” hummed Rose looking at the flower. Noticing the flower pot, she stared at the carving around it. The ceramic pot stood out more to Rose as though the main sight was not the gentle carnage flower but the pot. “They are a very strong flower, I am certain you can take care of it,” Iris whispered, smiling as she stared down at the white flowers darkly. Meanwhile inside the mansion, Dominic was shown by his grandparents the portrait of

A row of glass vials stands sentinel on a rickety shelf—each containing a unique essence: wolfsbane, moonflower, etc. But my purpose lies beyond these trinkets. I seek the “Mirror of Truth,” a fabled artifact said to reveal the soul’s darkest depths. It is wrapped in a red cloth, hidden beneath a stack of yellowed parchments. The cloth bears stains—perhaps blood, perhaps tears. I unwind it carefully, revealing the mirror’s polished surface. Its edges are jagged, as if it has been shattered and painstakingly pieced back together. As I gaze into the mirror, my reflection wavers. The room behind me blurs, replaced by a moonlit forest. The mirror does not merely reflect; it conjures memories. I

I pulled the Ghost’s Whisper out and set it on the vanity. Mira glanced at the flowers. “What is that?” she asked, reaching for them. “They’re beautiful.” I slapped her hand away. “It’s a ceremonial flower for fertility,” I said. “Not to be touched by anyone but the Queen.” Mira nodded, not bothering to ask more questions.

"Ah. So you can see what is in me if you want to?" "It does not work that way. I can only see what you show me." I am looking around again, it is then I notice the drawing of a flower carved on each wooden sides of the mirrors. That flower. It is familiar, I have seen it before. "What's the name of that flower?" Carla follows my gaze. "Oh that? That's the queen of the night flower. It is from it that the energy of the reflection was first extracted. It is a very uncommon flower and not just anyone can possess it."

Nothing but benevolence came from the mirror and its image. Sitting sideways on to Josie, the mirror-woman patted her abundant red hair, tweaking the frothy curls at the front into shape. She bit her lips to make them full and red, then picked up a cut-glass scent bottle. Removing the stopper, she used it to apply perfume to her pulse points — behind her ears, in the crook of her elbow, on the insides of her wrists. Josie smelled the lavender - and heliotrope notes of ‘Jicky’, her own favourite classic French perfume. With a mischievous smile the mirror-woman shrugged off the robe and applied a dab of perfume between her breasts.

"It's repression. Drama. Tell us, Cale. Why did you block her out? Was she cruel?" "No," Cale said quickly. "She wasn't cruel. She was..." He trailed off. His hands clenched on the table. "She was kind," Cale said. "She gave me... something." "What?" Mira asked. "Advice? Money?" "A flower," Cale whispered. It was a strange, specific detail. But Cale said it without conviction. He said it like he was reading it off a teleprompter that was too far away. "A flower," Mira repeated, unimpressed. "Okay. Arthouse. We can work with that. But I need a face, Cale. I need a visual."

a saleslady said as she approached. She turned and pointed to the necklace she liked. “May I see this one?” she asked, following the saleslady inside. Within a minute, she held the necklace in her hands, examining it carefully. Could this be the gift she would give Ricky's wife? “Miss, do you want others like this?” the saleslady asked. “No, just this one,” Flora Amor replied. “But do you have one with a D in the center?” “Sorry, ma’am. We have other pendants with D, but they’re not heart-shaped.”

I leaned against the counter, gripping its edge as if it was only my salvation right now not to cry. "Pull yourself together, Euphyllia," I mumbled, staring myself at the mirror. I even began to fan myself to cease the tears resting in the corners of my eyes. "You've been taught composure. Always composure." I kept chanting silently until I froze when my eyes landed on the flower vase, resting neatly on the marble surface of the sink, and saw a familiar flower alone. A chrysanthemum! Again! If from the other day, I saw that it was a pink and yesterday was a white one, now, it was a red chrysanthemum!

I held the flower vase on my right side but because of my shivering hands, I didn't see that it's not the vase that I hold but instead it was the flower. The vase dropped into the floor and the flower was the only left. And when I pointed it to them the guy laughed. "What are you going to do with that flower little girl?" I was going to throw the flower when I learned that it's glued to my palm. My wide-open eyes got terrified when the flower and my hand as if there's a connection. What is happening!

It was a refreshing sight, looking so endless, yet it felt ephemeral, unreal. He followed his gaze upon the white light that slowly seeped into one area and gradually formed into a figure, which he supposed to have belonged to a woman. And half of what was in front of him was suddenly covered in pasture and vibrant flowers of different colors, sizes, and inflorescence. It was then he realized he was standing on the ground, a bountiful ground.