Novel & Cerita Unbloomed Flowers

I couldn’t let her die for me, I wasn’t worth someone else’s life. Hastily scanning my surroundings, my fingers trembling as I pull out the lighter from my pocket. My pulse quickened, echoing loudly in my ears. Searching for dried flowers, they were more flammable compared to fresh flowers that contained more water. This garden was well-maintained, which meant that every bed of flowers was fresh and vibrant. Shifting my gaze to the forest, squinting towards the tree with ripples of bark and below was a bed of dried roses, stretching to lavender and finally a dried bush.

A dangerous feeling for someone like me. When I reached my office, I unlocked the door and pushed it open and froze. A bouquet sat on my desk. Not roses, not lilies, not anything grand or pretentious. Wildflowers. Soft purples and blues. Tiny white blossoms with frayed, delicate petals. The kind of flowers that grew where no one bothered to look. Beautiful, quiet, resilient. My breath left me in one quick exhale. A small card rested in front of them. My fingers trembled as I picked it up.

Said with my eye for fashion, I shouldn't throw away my shot to grow. The email sat there in my inbox, like the one bright spot in all this mess. *** I drove back to my small rented apartment. Not big, but clean, quiet—mine. I turned off my phone, peeled off the heavy wedding dress, and washed the makeup off my face.

A week later, the planner called with the first problems. “The flowers the bride wishes to have for the wedding aren’t just more expensive but unavailable. This is not their season to bloom, and they can’t force those lilies to bloom.” The wedding planner tried to explain carefully what the issue was, as if it’s not available wasn’t enough. It’s a flower what could be a problem with changing it.

Something worse lurked there — inner demons. Most people only knew that Widow's Blooms were rare and grew under extreme conditions. What they didn’t know was that these flowers bloomed among the dead. They grew best from the bones of corpses — in mass graves. A flower of the dead. Widow's Blooms had vivid, radiant colors. A single one was worth a fortune.

*ANASTASIA* I am in the Rose Garden. But not as it is in waking life. Everything is in bloom—violently, obscenely alive. Roses spill open around me in thick, silken layers, their petals so saturated with color they seem to pulse with their own heartbeat. Deep crimsons bleed into bruised purples, while tender pinks flush pale as dawn light. Each bloom unfurls like a mouth opening to whisper secrets, their folds heavy and wet with morning dew that clings to my fingertips when I brush past. Some hang pendulous, drunk on their own beauty, hearts swollen and velvet-soft, caressing my bare arms with the intimacy of lovers' touches as I drift between them.

CHAPTER 19: A Botanical Invasion And A G-Rated Mystery Sophia I was still vibrating from the shock of the package in the foyer. Calling it a bouquet was like calling the A****n rainforest a window box. It was a literal mountain of flora—a botanical invasion that had claimed half the entryway. Towers of cherry blossoms in pale pink and white, orchids in creamy lavender and deep violet, tulips in every shade from white to blood-red, all arranged in massive crystal vases.

"It wants a universe that *renews*. No more Hunger. No more Silence. Just... growth." The heart contracts, spraying liquid light. Where droplets hit the ground, flowers erupt-mutant things with teeth and talons. The Bloom isn't a Seed. It's a *collector*. --- **The Fractured Chorus** The survivors who followed us fall first. Talin reaches for a flower, its petals cooing like a dove. It bites off his fingers. Chaos erupt, the flowers attacking, their roots spearing through chests and skulls. Lira watches, delighted, as the lattice absorbs the dead, their faces joining the chorus in the thorns.

Unfortunately, the happy times were long behind them. Cassiopeia took out the pictures and tore off Lucas's figure from each one of them before throwing them into the trash can. Anya and she were the only ones that remained. Halfway through packing, she caught the whiff of a repulsive smell. She frowned instinctively. When she went to open the door, the smell grew sharper. When she had taken a few steps forward, she was hit with a heavy wave of nausea and almost lost her balance. She staggered a few steps before planting herself against the wall. Her head felt like mud.

Her notebook closed beside her. "What are you thinking about?" I asked. "How fast things change when conditions are right. Last week these were just stems. Now look." She pointed at the bed of wildflowers that had appeared seemingly overnight. Purple and yellow and white. Messy but deliberate somehow. "They were always going to bloom. They just needed time and sun and not to be interfered with too much." She looked at me. "Is that a metaphor?" "Maybe. Does it need to be?" "No. I like it better if it is just about flowers."