Flowers In The Attic Books の小説・ストーリー

I hesitated, but took her hand and followed her out of the library and up the main stairs, then a second, narrower set I had never had a reason to climb, to a door at the end of the hall I had always assumed was a linen closet. Nora went up on her toes and turned the handle with both hands, then pushed the door open with a creak to reveal a dusty attic space full of boxes. Before entering, Nora turned around and pressed her finger to her lips. Then, she quietly tiptoed into the room. That was when I probably should have turned around. But I didn’t. I wasn’t sure why; curiosity, I supposed. I glanced over my shoulder, then followed her in. It was warmer in the small room, the air smelling of

I stepped into the quiet wooden hallway behind the store and walked up a narrow flight of wooden stairs that led up to the small attic apartment above the greenhouse. The attic was tiny, but it was warm and clean. The wooden floorboards were smooth and swept clean. In the center of the room stood a simple twin bed covered in a thick hand-knitted yellow quilt that Clara had given me. A small wooden table sat by the narrow glass window, holds a simple desk lamp, a small ceramic mug, and a single wooden chair. Through the glass, I could see the quiet, snow-dusted roofs of Oakridge stretching out toward the dark pine forests. I set the warm bread on the table and unbuttoned my dark coat, hanging

I wasn't sure what she meant. But an hour later... I found myself climbing the narrow attic stairs with a flashlight and a pair of work gloves. --- Dust floated through the air as I switched on the old ceiling light. The attic smelled like forgotten years. Wedding decorations. Old furniture. Suitcases. Christmas ornaments. Photo albums. Pieces of a life we'd built together. I started with the easiest boxes first. Books. Old magazines. A broken lamp. Then I found a cardboard box marked in Amelia's handwriting.

I growled, grabbing the wooden rungs and pulling myself up into the gloom of the attic. ​The attic was a sprawling, dusty maze of old furniture, forgotten trunk cases, and canvas-covered paintings. The air was thick with the smell of dried lavender and old wood. Beams of late afternoon light cut through the small round window at the far end, illuminating millions of floating dust motes. ​"Leo, stop playing games," I said, walking slowly through the narrow pathways between the stacked boxes. "That notebook is private." ​A soft rustle came from behind a tall stack of leather trunks. I crept forward on tiptoe, peering around the corner to catch him—but the space was empty.

They went rolling down the mountain slope and the road was cleared. I removed the barricade and announced that the path was clear. I watched contentedly as Elsa drove smoothly towards St. Normans’. I didn’t go to St. Normans’ rather I went back to Dixonville. On reaching home I took out the book from under my jacket. I ran my hand over the cover of the book. I was about to throw it into the fire when I remembered that the book contained a picture of Prince Audrey. I couldn’t resist the temptation of seeing his picture. I swiftly turned to the page where his picture was printed. I couldn’t bring myself to burn the book with the picture. So I tore out that page folded it and kept it in my pock

There is one tiny window from the opposite side of the room, showing just enough light to lead the way. Not much has changed since I was here last; The same cobwebs are covering all the old toys, one black spider in the corner is staring at me, a wooden rocking horse and chair in the far left corner, a few shelves with some strange glasses filled with liquid, and tons of opened boxes. The attic was always my treasure chest. I loved looking around, but there was no time today. Right now, I just need to find the book. I knew I carefully tucked it behind the liquid glass jars because I was the one that put it there.

Give me back my book right now,I said in a commanding tone. Collins sat with his head resting at the edge of his chair.he looked up at me, straight at me with a beseeching expression on his face.i threw him a glare of scorn and disgust and start to pack my remaining stuff inside my bag. "Are you alright, Flora? he asked, smirking. Fuck,I thought in a rage,fuck Collins, fuck this school,fuck Mr Robert, fuck Emily and fuck my note.so he has been pretending not to know my name, making me think I have the upper hand.

Knowing he wouldn’t say no I cooked him breakfast and watched him eat it before heading up to the attic. I don’t know what I was afraid to find. Maybe I was afraid of what I wouldn’t find. Walking into the attic I walked straight to the desk pulling out Violet’s journal. I was amazed at her handwriting and her perfectly penciled drawings but it didn’t speak to me. I knew nothing about her gifts but I imagined it spoke to her. Nothing seemed to speak to me, not a single drawing not a single word.

I refused to join them because I don't like to pretend I was enjoying a vacation when I have a lot of things going on in my mind. I started reading the book Aae left as a gift for Christmas. He went home while Tita Annly spent the breaks at the hospital. Like me, she's not fond of celebrating. I just visited the church during Christmas Eve and watched the fireworks outside the porch. It was sad, but I like it. I made a lot of realizations these past few days. I already touched the soft edge of the book when my eyes caught a glimpse of the flower pot near my coffee. The pink-fern like petals were swaying a little as the wind brushed against my hair.

But there are some people who still longs for more rather than staying in the room, locked up and just playing games. I am one of them. And now, I have friends, and I finally get along with my family. I also have found the love of my life. I am Miss Wallflower, and this is my story. END