Silk Carnations Novels & Stories

"Mrs. Finch Senior, I met a veteran actor during my shoot, and he loves saffron crocus. He's very well-versed in them. "He spent a lot of effort nurturing this lilac one. I had to convince him until he reluctantly parted with it. "Also, these Kadupul flowers are part of a botanist's personal collection. It was one of his precious babies. And this…" Yara aimed to impress Eleanor, looking like she was presenting treasures.

White curtains billowed as the wind blew, and the distant flowerbeds shimmered in and out of view. The sharp white spikes of the water grass flowers were in full bloom, the fragrance of evening primroses grew stronger, and the chrysanthemums and bunny tail grass complemented each other. Rows of white and milky white flowers stood tall or short, arranged in a staggered pattern, gently swaying in the wind. Lady Sallieri rested her fingers on her forehead, speaking gently, "Perhaps you could find a girl who can temporarily help you?" She was a standard noble lady—beautiful, elegant, and always spoke at a measured pace.

The coolness of the shop was a relief after the heat outside. "Welcome," the elderly florist started, looking up from her work with a warm smile, but I cut her off, my voice rough from hours of silence. "I need a bouquet," I said, the words tumbling out faster than I intended. "The largest one you can make. Delphiniums… blue ones, and white gardenias. Don't mix them with those cheap ferns. Use the thick silk ribbon." My chest heaved slightly under my suit jacket. My hands trembled as I spoke, though whether from exhaustion or anticipation, I couldn't say. The florist's eyes widened slightly at my intensity, but she nodded with professional understanding.

I said with a faint grin. I didn’t know what Anya liked — flowers, colors, scents — I knew none of it yet. But I wanted to try. So I chose what felt right: White roses, for purity and new beginnings. Lavender, for calm and peace. And baby’s breath, for quiet, enduring beauty. The woman wrapped them carefully, tying the bouquet with a silver ribbon. “She must mean a lot to you,” she said softly. “She does,” I replied. When I got back in the car, Dorian stared at the bouquet, then at me. “You’re gone, Alaric.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅• Caroline sat beside her mother, Agatha, flipping through the glossy pages of a wedding catalog, scanning the carefully curated arrangements of flowers. Soft sunlight poured through the window, illuminating the pages, casting a gentle glow over the delicate bouquets displayed on each spread. Agatha’s fingers lingered over an image of pristine white roses, her expression calm yet decisive. "White roses," she said firmly, tapping the picture with purpose. "Classic, elegant. They symbolize purity and new beginnings. They’re perfect."

Take those porcelain platters back to the kitchen, you useless idiots! Cynthia Vane screamed, her voice echoing sharply off the glass ceiling of the Vance mansion's private solarium. I told you the orchids had to be white, not light pink! Do you want the Duchess of Valmont to think we are running a common garden show? Madam Cynthia, we changed them three times already, the head maid whispered, her hands trembling as she adjusted the silver tea service. The floral vendor said the premium white imports were completely recalled this morning by the customs authority.

Eva makes more notes, nodding as she does, “The meanings there are good. Gladioli for integrity and victory, calla lilies for beauty, ferns for magic and fascination, sage for wisdom and immortality and rosemary for remembrance. It’s a beautiful combined meaning, and it would work well for both events.” Celine nods, and leans back in her chair, “Two dresses, some dancing lessons and I’m done…” she sighs, “I’ll need Fi for the dresses, so it’ll have to be tomorrow. But if you call in those tailors you were talking about, maybe we can get something at least drafted.” Eva nods,

There, standing before me, was a bouquet of crystal roses. The stems were wrapped in deep velvet green, but it was the petals that stole my breath. Crimson red, touched with silvery veins, and dusted in sparkling, iridescent crystals that shimmered with the faintest hints of magic. The air around them pulsed with a soft, enchanting warmth, and the scent… gods, the scent. Sweet. Clean. Comforting in a way that wrapped around my chest and melted something inside me. Crystal roses. Nearly impossible to grow. Requiring not only precision and patience but a strong magical affinity—just to keep them alive.

(Katriona) “WE were told that you get cold easily, that's why we specially prepared this cloak for you. Here. Put this on, city girl.” I clenched my hands when the women tossed the silver cloak on the ground. It reeked of ‘Sariah’, a beautiful white and blue flower with its thirteen leaves. It was as big as a fist. It used to be my favorite flower until I got a hold of it and fell ill. Now, I could only admire it from afar but I would never dare touch it again.

‘Then why are you looking at their roots and covering them back’ Natasha asked. ‘You know their age through their roots’ nara said ‘snow grass has a life span of 100 years, the snow grass they are taking is about 50-60 years’. ‘Wow I guess it’s true, healers and witches go crazy for herbs’ ivory murmured opening the map she held. Ivory noticed a blue dot at the entry point of chex on the map, straining her eyes she looked at it carefully. ‘This wasn’t there before’ ivory thought.