Flowers In The Attic Books Novelas e Histórias

Why not let me leave? The thought made me sick. His words and actions were nothing but a web of lies. Clutching my torn dress, I bit my lip until I tasted blood. If he wouldn’t let me leave, I would find a way out myself. ***** Just as Kieran promised, I was locked up again. This time, it was in the attic, a place long abandoned and forgotten. The attic was dark, with only faint light filtering through cracks in the wooden roof. The air was thick with dust, making it hard to breathe. The wooden floor creaked with every step, and cobwebs hung in every corner, giving the space an eerie, neglected feel.

, Drake asked in an urgent whisper while inching closer to the Omega who was now blushing profusely. "I… I…", the words were stuck in her throat. He was too handsome and too close, and all this was too sudden. "She… maybe…" "Yes? Yes!?", he asked impatiently. She blinked rapidly. "The attic. There is a girl living in the attic." ---

Kael and I followed the scent upstairs to the last floor of the house. The Attic! “It can’t be,” I whispered, frozen at the top of the attic stairs. Kael didn’t respond. He pushed past me and opened the door gently. “Kael… It’s her” I said in a low tone. He was staring at the small space in disbelief, at the mattress that barely looked like it could hold a body, the peeling walls, the single cracked window. And the scent. Her scent. Sweet. Inviting. A perfect blend of freshly baked chocolate cookies and something softer, something uniquely her.

She closed the door behind her slowly. The apartment was still. Not quiet — still. Air too heavy. The smell of something floral. Faint. Sweet. Wrong. Her eyes drifted to the bookshelf. The flower was back. No — flowers, plural. Five of them now. Each bloom a different color. Crimson. Violet. Cerulean. Pale gold. Ink black. All curling from different books, petals growing like they’d always belonged there. Sea Glass Psalms. The Edge of Dusk. Forgotten Bodies. Every book Aria had buried a piece of herself in — every one of them blooming with impossible color. A spectrum of memories. Of lovers.

Zane’s POV I climbed to the attic, my breath coming in short bursts as I reached the top faster than I ever should’ve. The smell of freesia hit me before I even opened the door. It was her scent. The girl. The door stood between me and her, the silence thick enough to swallow me whole. I paused, letting my mind settle, recalling how I had searched the Silverwood packhouse from top to bottom. Why hadn’t I thought to check the attic first?

She trudged up five flights, kicked her boots off inside, and froze. Something felt… off. She closed the door behind her slowly. The apartment was still. Not quiet — still. Air too heavy. The smell of something floral. Faint. Sweet. Wrong. Her eyes drifted to the bookshelf. The flower was back. No — flowers, plural. Two of them now. Deep crimson. Growing directly from the spine of Sea Glass Psalms, like they had rooted themselves into the poetry. No pot. No soil. Just… existing. Aria moved closer, slowly.

Scarlett’s heart began to race; something about the book drew her in, as if it held secrets waiting to be discovered. Scarlett went down the attic stairs with her heart pounding, clutching the old book in her hands. Her mind was full of questions she couldn’t ignore, and the only person who might have answers was her aunt. She found her in the kitchen, preparing dinner, and asked in a trembling voice: “Aunt… I found this in the attic,” she said, holding the book out to her. Her aunt stared at the book for a moment, as if remembering something long forgotten. Finally, she sighed and smiled sadly.

She left them and walked straight towards their classroom. “Another boring day,” she whispered to herself as she sat. She put her bag and get the book which she covered with another design to hide the real title of the book. The book was called “My Journey Beyond My Imagination”. It was written by Lilia Desaix, it’s the reason why Clandes covered the book. Bulwarkians were not allowed to read or use any artworks of Desaix. Desaix was known as a criminal, they killed a lot of humans since they are vampires and witches. But, it cannot be denied that they are talented.

The object in her hands shook, and the surface glowed a ghoulish amethyst. She dropped the book and stepped away as smoke rose in a spiral. The things in the attic rattled and knocked various stuff over and an unnatural chuckle resounded against its walls. April G’s orbs grew wide when out from the smoke, appeared a tall, elegant woman, dressed in an all-black gown with lilac hair, carmine eyes and yellow horns that protruded from her head. The little girl backed away more and stared up in shock and fear. She then heard her speak and recognized her voice as the one that tempted her earlier. [Gehennam ignis, tandem venit de miser libro!]

Either way, had she not, I fear Tremaine would have had the canvas burned, or worse—mocked before others until its dignity crumbled into ash. When I reach the attic door, the hinges groan, but everything inside remains unchanged, as though no one has dared to disturb it for years. That is the way of attics. They hold memories in the same posture forever, untouched, while the world below shifts and forgets. My stepsisters have no love for this place. I doubt they could find their way here, even if ordered. Anastasia has little patience for dust, and Drizella even less for words on pages. Sometimes I wonder if they can even read.