Flowery Prose Novels & Stories

" Tears feel like shards of glass as it retells the past. Tear by tear, blood broke free from the face of the man. Oh, how bizarre! I wasn't aware of the shards as they cut through me like the thorns of the rose. The man was probably hurt... The past then retells its self again. Back through those years, a man runs cowardly. Well, that's what he thought... "The man scuttled, the grass sound is subtle. Began the Red Catchfly flowered in the distance." "Bloomed the warmth, an enchanter revealed! saying its blessing, Dressed you a Cornflower!" "Come to the borders of Dill, there you will meet your boon companion. Must not tell his name for I'm restricted." "Sparkled the area outshines the darkl

I keep my voice low. "You're already are.." Legolas responded, which surprised me. The stalks in that meadow were swaying, as if they were the very substance of this green and bonny sea. It meandered in soothing breezes, the green flowing in bonny waves as any river would be delighted to do. It grew as if each flower represented a vivid recollection. The meadow has a casual grace about it, as if it is conscious of its own beauty yet would rather be at ease in this warm light. It was a pleasant melody, poetry for the eyes and soul, vivid in every color the world could imagine.

the voice whispered, and at that moment the whole surroundings changed. A heavenly-like garden appeared. It was a fall not touched by time but dreamed into existence—wished into the world by a soul aching for beauty. The land was adorned with flowers of impossible colors, blooming wildly among drifts of golden leaves. Vines curled like delicate script over stone and root, their blossoms opening like whispered secrets. The air carried a hush of warmth and wonder, as if the sky itself leaned low to listen. Soft hills rolled in shades of amber and emerald, kissed by the fresh green lips of nature—dewy moss, tender grass, and young shoots rising where none should grow. The trees, dressed in fire

As I waves my hand raised my hand over the pot, I said: To be little Short as a sprout Rise up above the ground Up to a foot, maybe two Let me bring this flower To the world we know Up, Up and grow too Glitter then started to from making a beautiful chocolate rose. It looked beautiful, but then black ooze just like blood started coming right out of it, with lack and gray smoke. “UGH, not again.” I huffed, opening the window to get all the smoke out. “Wow, who knew Lavender would have trouble with such a simple spell.”

The flowers continued their slow, relentless pulse around us, each bloom releasing another wave of that thick, honeyed perfume. It wrapped around my thoughts like warm syrup, making everything feel distant and immediate all at once. My limbs felt heavy yet light, my skin buzzing with a drunken heat that spread from my chest down through my belly and into my groin. I was aware of every breath, every brush of fabric or petal against me, but my mind floated in a golden haze. Sinful, yes. But so very wanted.

The garden looked deceptively innocent in the bright morning sun—fountains sparkling like diamonds under the spray, roses dewy and vibrant, petals unfurling in shades of crimson and pink that reminded me of the flush on my skin last night. Every bush and hedge whispered memories of our midnight rendezvous: the way Dante had pinned me against the oak, his body a wall of heat and muscle, thrusting with a rhythm that had me biting back screams under the stars. The air was crisp, carrying the sweet floral scent mixed with fresh-cut grass, but my mind was elsewhere—on the dampness between my thighs from his earlier teasing at breakfast, the ache building anew with each glance he stole my way.

It was beautiful, yes. But still. Quiet. Too quiet. She realized then that she had written the Flow with only half its song. Lyra turned back, her eyes glowing with reflected fire. > “Show me what you would do.” The Flame Child grinned — fierce and radiant. > “You’ll regret asking.” They spun once, and from their motion, sparks leapt into the sky, raining across the valley like stars being born. Where each ember landed, something changed: flowers bloomed brighter, the wind began to dance,

•~•Third Person’s POV The sun bathed Celeste Lancaster’s garden in a golden glow. The air was thick with the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers, and well-trimmed hedges carved perfect pathways, guiding the eye to distant fountains and statues that radiated opulence. It felt like stepping into a paradise, and Melissa couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place, overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur of it all. As they walked side by side, Celeste moved with the effortless grace of someone entirely at ease in her surroundings.

And the blush that was barely receding was back again. "I'm not a pretty little flower, Roses are as pretty as they are dangerous." He scoffed, standing up and even from where he was standing, I could see that he'll tower over me. He straightened out his suit jacket. Eyes boring into mine. "The only dangerous roses are those with thorns Rose, and you my dear, you have no thorns. You're a pretty little flower, a harmless little flower." He walked towards me till he was standing right Infront of me, towering over me as expected, I craned my neck just too look at him. "I'll be taking my leave now pretty flower, say hi to Mr. Potter for me."

The small tree branches were snapping in half as we barreled through them. As we reached a clearing, the intoxicating fragrance of the blooming wildflowers completely filled my senses. Stepping into the center of the field, we took in the surroundings, while a gentle breeze tousled my fur. The vibrant colors of the wildflowers painted a breathtaking scene, as if nature itself had crafted a masterpiece. It was a moment of serene tranquility that reminded me of the beauty that exists beyond our everyday lives.