Flower Knows Hand Mirror Novels & Stories

Her hands were raw and red from the ice-cold temperature. Darius was hovering nearby, hiding behind a wide pine tree with a bouquet of wild, purple-and-pink mountain chrysanthemums in his hand. He crept up behind her, thrusting the bright flowers over her shoulder. "They smell nice, don't they?" Mirelle whipped around, glaring at him with fierce annoyance. "Get away from me, Darius! Can't you see I am doing heavy work?" She sneered at the flowers in his hand. "You bring me funeral chrysanthemums? Are you praying for my death?"

Old books, dried flowers, and a few family records. I was about to give up when I noticed the mirror. There was something strange about it. The frame was carved with tiny crescent moons. I touched one. Nothing happened. I pressed harder. A click sounded from inside the wall. I stepped back. The mirror moved. Behind it was a narrow compartment. My heart began racing. Inside was a small wooden box. I pulled it out. There was no lock. Only a symbol carved into the lid. A red moon surrounded by a black crescent.

Seeing his face made me gasp because he looked familiar and I was reminded of the other times I dreamed about him and this place! "Silas, look at this mirror. Don't you think the queen will like this?" I blinked and looked at the mirror he was showing. It was a gold hand mirror that had pretty art details on the back. Looking at it, I can see why Milo thought of the queen. "It suits her." I smiled and we bought the mirror, looked around some more and bought some candies for the prince and princess as well. "Do you think they will like these? They're sweet." I asked Milo while chewing on one.

A warning made fabric. On the vanity sat her mask — a jagged shard of midnight crystal, a fragment of fallen star. Not shaped by human hands. Shaped by need. She looked at her hands. At the room. At the vase where the Midnight Rose had been, now empty, its stem bare and grey as bone. She understood the transaction. The flower had fed, had taken, had given. The cost was not yet tallied.

As they reached the final chamber, Ayla stopped. At its center stood a single mirror—taller than a man, its frame carved from moonstone. The surface rippled faintly, as if it were breathing. Her heart pounded. “This is it.” Kian stepped closer, his hand on his sword. “Careful. The Mirror doesn’t just show. It binds.” Ayla ignored him. She lifted her hand and touched the glass. The surface rippled beneath her fingertips, cool and alive. For a heartbeat, she saw only her reflection. Then, slowly, another image formed—her face, but different. Darker eyes. A crescent mark glowing on her brow.

It didn't matter that he was human; he was still a precious member of the pack. "No, yes…maybe…I don't know…" Freya swiped her hands through her hair. "He brought her flowers yesterday afternoon…black dahlias and red poppy." "So?" So Julian gave Mirage flowers…what was wrong with that? "Black dahlias and red poppy…are considered cursed flowers, Alex." Freya sighed. "And these were imbued in some kind of spell. Mirage seemed constantly afraid…panicked, until I burned down the flowers and she returned to her normal self slowly."

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."