Flowers In The Attic Books Novelas e Histórias

I grabbed Flora's wrist and pulled her straight toward the grand staircase. We didn't stop to look at the living room. We didn't walk into the shiny kitchen. I dragged her all the way up to the third floor as fast as I could. I pushed my bedroom door open. Flora walked inside and dropped her textbook directly onto the plush rug. She spun around in a slow, wide circle. She looked at the giant mattress covered in thick grey fur blankets. She touched the expensive velvet curtains hanging by the window. She stared at the stone fireplace crackling quietly in the corner.

Not against him. Then Atticus saw a crop of dead flowers. Their stems were a fresh, bright green, but their petals had wilted and withered until he could not tell what colour they had been before. Flowers were a change from the endless rolling fields he’d spent the better part of the morning marching through, so he went to them with an eagerness he had not displayed since he had been a child. Save for Lily’s eighteenth birthday, a dark part of his mind whispered snidely. Save for when you had a chance at love – before you ruined it all.

New school trip, new weirdo. As soon as JD left, I searched for ancient books and mythology about witches but there was none. It was weird but even the local library didn't have anything about witches. It's as if they were purposely erased from this town. And just as I was wandering aimlessly back at my house, my eyes felt drawn to what seems to be a relic just resting there in the desk at the attic. I went towards it and inspected it even more. It seems weird that everything in the attic is covered with dust except for that relic. It looks like it’s been used daily or something new. It didn’t belong there. Also, it's carving seems to be moving.

The attic, huh? Alessia made one last glance at the small crevice on his room that could be seen to the front of the cabin before leaping up and hugging a wooden log on the ceiling while trying to open the trapdoor. She had to go back down and grab the crowbar to force it open and when she did, she frowned. The attic was mostly empty and stored nothing but a small chest. It was a dark room filled with cobwebs and other nasty animals but she couldn't care less. She quickly made her way to the chest, wasting no time. The sun's about to go down and that would mean Clyde's on his way back.

I would make everything worse if I did. I only tried to change my action a little for the sake of achieving my plans yet, I received attention, the character’s actions diverted from the original storyline, and what’s worst was one of my targets suffered. There was a new place in this mansion, I discovered. It was none other than our library that led to the attic! It has various selections of books with different topics such as politics, history, and even novels. When I asked the butler, he said there were more than a thousand books in a two-story facility.

It was a reliable constant. "Not in the way people are," he continued. "She manages it. Actively. There's something underneath it, she's not indifferent, but what she shows is controlled rather than suppressed. The difference is in the eyes." I leaned back in my chair. Outside the window the grounds were doing what they did in late autumn, going bare and gray and cold, the kind of afternoon that arrived early and intended to stay. The trees along the east wall had dropped most of what they were going to drop. The training ground was empty at this hour. The compound was running at its usual pace around the disruption of having an unknown female in my bedroom, which was a sentence I had not an

Still, it was worth the heat for a little adventure. There was a pull-string directly above me and when I yanked it, a bare bulb lent dirty light to the attic space. There wasn’t much to see anyway. The pitch of the roof left little walkable space. The floor itself was just a few scattered sheets of plywood. It smelled dry and somehow gamey and I wondered if there were squirrels or raccoons finding their way in. There were a couple of old chairs, a dresser with the drawers missing, and a bunch of cardboard boxes splitting at the seams. I squinted at the boxes. Are those comic books? I shuffled over, careful to keep my head low.

“I told you what I needed to say. Go enjoy your Valentine’s Day gift, little flower.” I blush at the nickname before nodding and heading towards the attic. I hesitate in the doorway, looking at the beautiful little key before sliding it into the lock. The door swings open with a soft ‘click.’

The rooms up here are just as damaged and vandalized as downstairs, with cracks in the drywall and water damage from rain and snow. There’s a spiral staircase in a closet, which seems a little strange to me at first. There are no lights up here, so Lucas and I both get out our phones for light. Lucas doesn’t need it, of course, but the extra light helps me see. The attic is large, with tall ceilings and solid wood flooring. The energy shifts again, and I’m picking up something more personal…like a specific energy belonging to one person. “What’s through here?” I ask, pointing to a little door in the wall.

I nearly shouted, snatching it from her hands. She clicked her tongue. “Hmm... it’s interesting.” “Damn you,” I snapped. My journal was private—sacred. “Go clean the attic. It's filthy,” she said flippantly, tossing her hair as she walked out of the house. I looked up toward the attic. Dust streamed down from the half-open hatch. Had she been up there? I grabbed the long broom behind the door and made my way up. The attic was a mess—dust so thick I had to cover my nose with my sleeve. I stumbled around, searching for the light switch, and finally flicked it on.