Poem Novel Painting Statue Flower 소설 & 이야기

“The Alpha put a fountain with a statue of you in it!" I almost spit into my coffee. Surely he is not crazy enough to make a fountain with a statue of me. I stand up and hurry into the garden, the servant follows me, running after me. I'm blown away by what I see. The fountain is the most beautiful one I have ever laid my eyes on. The statue is so pretty, and the water keeps pouring from her clasped hands. she looks like a goddess. The entire garden now looks like a slice of heaven, the flowers are so beautiful that they look like they were painted into the greenness of it all, but with the statue? This is paradise!

“Hey, let’s not let Marco ruin our day. Want to see my paintings?” “You paint?” I asked, genuinely surprised. “Of course I do! I’m not perfect, still learning but it helps.” She bounced off the bed with renewed energy. I followed her to the corner of her room where several canvases leaned against the wall. Her paintings were hauntingly beautiful—dark, emotional pieces that captured the shadows of their life. One showed a rose garden at night, petals dripping like blood under moonlight. Another depicted fractured family silhouettes, hands reaching but never quite touching. There was pain in every brushstroke, but also resilience. A blooming flower wrapped in barbed wire. A lone wolf standing

She said while I held back the smile creeping around my lips Her voice carried a sense of reverence as she spoke, as though each word was imbued with her own experiences and emotions. I found myself entranced by her storytelling, her words weaving a tapestry of meanings and emotions associated with these beautiful flowers. As the conversation continued, we delved deeper into the symbolism of other flowers. She spoke of the delicate elegance of the lily, the vibrant energy of the sunflower, and the quiet resilience of the orchid. Her words painted vivid pictures in my mind, evoking a deep appreciation for the wonders of nature and the messages they carried.

I commented on the song I heard her singing before my intrusion, not liking the silence lingering between us. It really was. I wonder who taught her that verse. I've never heard a soul full piece like that in a while. Flower's eyes opened wide as she stared at me with excitement drip out of them. "Really!?" "Yap." I said as I nodded my head, smiling at her cute self as I opened my arms which she ran into without any second thoughts. "I wrote it like 5 minutes ago in the shower while thinking of you." Her voice vibrated against my chest as something bubbled up inside of me.

“Too late.” I cross the room slowly, circling behind her as I study her painting, some surreal blend of wildflowers and a ribcage, the petals blooming out of bone like they belonged there all along. It’s stunning. Like her. “Why a ribcage?” I murmur, ghosting my fingers over the edge of the canvas. Zenith shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Felt right.”

I searched, half-heartedly at first—until I noticed something odd. One of the tallest rose plants—massive, with curling black thorns and flowers the size of my head—seemed to breathe. The leaves trembled, though there was no wind. I crept closer, expecting to find Clora crouched behind it, holding her breath. Instead, I found… a statue. But not just any statue. Among the faceless marble women that stood eternally weeping in the garden, there was one I hadn’t seen before.

He only hoped within him that one day she doesn't still see marrying him as a forced decision that she just has to live with. "I'm sorry about that." "Oh, don't be. I'm used to it." She turned and continued staring at the artwork. She got to one with a white painted background, dotted blue paints that went spiral creating a flower shape. The petals were adorned with glowing stones that shone under the bright light in the room. The painting looked back at her and although it was simple, it meant a lot. Looking at the painting from another angle, the work when placed horizontally looked like a sword.

“Zara, whatever this power is—it’s still you. The woman who saved me, saved them, saved this cursed land. You think the Vale is remaking you, but maybe it’s just recognizing its queen.” Her lips parted, but no words came. A tear slipped down her cheek, glowing faintly where it fell. She stared at the drop as it hit the stone balcony—and from that spot, a small white flower sprouted, trembling in the twilight. “See?” he whispered. “Even the ruins bloom for you.” She laughed, quiet and disbelieving, the sound breaking like light through storm clouds. “You always did know how to turn a tragedy into poetry.” “Only when the muse is worth it.”

Some were new, but most were very old. I pulled out a book at random. It was a collection of poems. As I opened it, a small piece of paper fell out. I picked it up. It was a drawing. A simple sketch of a young girl sitting under a tree. She looked happy. She looked free. On the back, there were some words written in elegant handwriting: *For my little flower. May you always find your way home.* The handwriting looked familiar, but I couldn't remember where I had seen it. I felt a strange pain in my chest. I didn't know who the "little flower" was, but I felt sorry for her. In this house, nobody was free.

The canvas becomes a reflection of my soul. The scent of flowers fills the air, their perfumes mingling with the intoxicating aroma of fresh paint. I close my eyes for a moment, allowing the fragrances to infuse my senses, to transport me to a realm where dreams take shape. With each brushstroke, I find solace and liberation. The world beyond this haven fades into insignificance as my focus narrows to the canvas before me. The vibrant blooms around me seem to lean closer, their petals yearning to be captured on the canvas. I oblige, weaving their delicate beauty into my artwork.