Lirik Winter Flower Novels & Stories

WINTER'S POV I jerked awake, gasping for breath, my eyes widening as I took in my surroundings. "Again?!" I growled, scowling at the asphodel flowers that danced in the gentle breeze. "When will I finally cease coming here?" I mumbled to myself. "Only when you halt your relentless pursuit of self-destruction," came the cool response.

Chantara blamed herself for what had happened and Tina couldn't blame her. "Tomorrow the promise of spring will blossom as flowers do, yet today the wind blows cold, the last serenade winter's song." Chantara said out loud Upon the grass there is snow, much like sprinkled sugar over cake. The frigid air has a way of keeping us in the moment, wicking away body heat faster than it is replaced. It's one of those days when normal clothes aren't enough, when they feel thinner than they are. Breaths rise in puffs, arms hug each body tightly and there is a briskness to movements that will melt with the snow. Come tomorrow faces will reflect the warmth of the sun in their smiles; today they show res

On the day I was diagnosed with stage four cancer, Vivian Cross handed me a contract for a divorce reality show. I already knew that meant she'd lost another bet to her secretary, Miles Smith. They'd made ninety-nine bets over the years, and every time, Vivian let herself lose on purpose. She lost the house we decorated for our wedding. She lost the wedding itself. She even lost our son's body, handing him over so Miles could satisfy his twisted curiosity about the human body. Our baby had been seven months along when they donated his remains. He'd been so small. Vivian slid the contract across to me, tapping the papers. "Ethan, I lost another bet. It's just a reality show. Help me keep M

I've lost everyone because I pushed them away. The tears are flowing as the words wash over me, but it's a good cry. It's a healing cry, that acts as a balm for the soul. My hips are swaying to the music and despite the emotion choking me, I'm quietly singing along. “Please come home for Christmas... Please come home for Christmas... If not for Christmas, by New Year's night...”

And after this rest, this deep breath of cool fresh air, we are ready for the sweet mischief of spring. Under a dove grey sky the colours of world don Jake's winter coats, each hue darker and richer than before as he looked on the path which sparkles and crunches, like sugar underfoot, and the coolness brings him right into the now, into the moment of life. Though the flowers sleep and the trees show their lofty arms once more, a smile plays upon these cold pink lips of his. For as much as he loved the summertime, he love the winter more. For every perfume of the meadow, there is the earthy loam of the newly-lit forest floor.

A moment later, the neighbor’s daughter spotted me and asked in surprise, “Dr. Summer, isn’t that handsome guy with you? He went to get you a gift, didn’t he?” A bad feeling crept up my spine. The girl continued. “Last night he asked me what the most precious thing here was, so I told him about the legend of the Skyspire Snow Lotus.” As she said that, her face turned pale. “Oh no. He didn’t actually go looking for the snow lotus, did he?” Just as she finished speaking, a sudden commotion erupted in the distance. “Dr. Summer! Someone’s dying!” Several men came rushing over, carrying someone on a stretcher.

The tension in the room dissolved instantly, as if the explosive confrontation moments ago had been nothing more than a brief interruption. Only I, floating in mid-air, felt a bone-chilling cold as I watched the moving red dot. That wasn't me climbing, but rather a wolf. Before I lost consciousness, I heard the howl of a wolf. The sound was very close, just behind the rocks. The hungry wolf must've been dragging my corpse across the snow, leaving a long trail of blood. It had clamped its jaws around my leg, pulling me back to its den as its Christmas feast. Every flicker of that red dot was another jolt to my broken body.

How petty. "Anyways." I shoot him a look and stop in front of the window, bending to look down and gasping in excitement at what I see. "I knew I wasn't crazy!" I exclaim, pointing at the small patch of purple flowers that still sit at the base of the window. I tense a little when Erik presses against my arm to see what I was yelling about. I could feel the tension between us, blooming from something as tiny as our arms brushing. "Last night, I wiped my tears on my hand, and put it there, and when I picked it up, those flowers were blooming!" I look up at him with a grin on my face, faltering when I realize I'm inches away from him, and he's already staring at me.

“Because I don’t think you’re doing any of this intentionally.” “But I am doing it.” Lysandra stayed quiet for a moment. Because there wasn’t really a comforting way around that answer anymore. The flowers near the windows shifted slightly. At first, it looked like nothing more than the movement of air from the cracks near the glass. Then one of the pale winter blooms nearest to Celeste slowly curled inward. The color faded from the petals almost instantly. Lysandra saw it. Celeste didn’t, or if she did, she pretended not to.

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,