Wilted Flower Novels & Stories

The well-known flower language of white chrysanthemums is not something noble, but rather a way to express condolences to the deceased at funerals. Joseph watched as Elianna carefully arranged the bouquet of flowers, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but he didn't say a word. How much she hated him, that she specially bought these flowers to visit him. But... Why did she hate him? Still hated him so much. Elianna looked at Joseph, with her hands behind her back, and looked around, "Huh? Where is Zack? Isn't he here?" Joseph, "He was at home."

The journey had drained my energy, especially after my conversation with Dita that… made my heart flutter strangely. I was about to open the desk drawer when my eyes fell on something lying in the corner of the table. A small bouquet of flowers, already wilted, its petals dried and colors faded. I moved closer to examine it. A mix of asters and baby’s breath, wrapped in simple brown paper that was a bit worn. My brow furrowed. I didn’t remember buying those flowers. In fact, I was pretty sure no one had given them to me a few days ago.

swirled in her mind, each one pointing toward the answer they both were too afraid to touch. She followed the instructions, burying those unremarkable seeds into the soft soil. She watered them. She made sure they had sun. Day after day. It became a secret hidden from the rest of her suffocating life. The sprouts grew into stems, then leaves, and finally, buds. When the first flower finally trembled into bloom, Elena held her breath. White Hyacinths. The petals were pure, clustered together in a delicate, elegant spike. As she watched the flower release its fragrance in the sunlight, she felt a sudden urge to look up its meaning.

The fact that Phoenix had to fight the last group of hunters without her help made the situation many times more dangerous and deadly. Rowena bent down instead of answering me. She plucked a flower bud from the ground. “These wouldn’t bloom for a few more months.” She said as she raised the flower for me to see. Then I felt a warm draft. It was faint and barely noticeable, the kind of thing that I could easily pass as my own imagination even. The flower immediately began to move. It opened right before my eyes and beautiful colors were revealed. It was a pretty sight, but it only lasted for a few seconds. Soon, the flower began turning black and it bent down after died. After that, it disint

he rasped, every syllable a blade. “Tell me why my daughter’s Vyris is withered.” I went completely still. Vyris. The midnight-blooming flower every royal bloodline in all the four regions plants at the birth of their offspring. A single drop of newborn blood in sacred soil, a single black seed dipped into it. The flower grows with the child, drinks moonlight, lives as long as the royal does. Cut the Vyris and the royal still breathes. But whenever the Vyris blackens and dies, it means only one thing… The royal whose blood runs in its soil is gone. Forever.

Nightfall coincided with the unfolding of dozens upon dozens of bright dew-covered violet flowers. “These are night widows,” said Hayden softly. “They’re not noticeable during the daytime because their outer petals camouflage with the leaves of the trees where they bloom. The inner petals cannot be touched by the sunlight so the buds remain shut tightly until nightfall when it’s safe for them to blossom and unfold. The dew condenses inside of the flowers,” explained Hayden. “And the drops look like tears and they can only be seen at night. Night widows. I understand,” said Corinna, without taking her eyes off the flowers. “But what do these flowers have to do with anything?” She asked.

“Find one that’s fully bloomed, but still looks healthy.” Ethan stared at the roses. “So… that one?” “No.” I laughed. “That one is dying.” He frowned. “How am I supposed to know that?” “Look at the petals. If they’re wilted or falling off, leave it alone.” I said simply. He nodded seriously. “Second step,” I continued. “Hold the stem gently. Don’t squeeze it.” I demonstrated and he carefully followed my instructions. “Third, use your other hand to support the flower.”

I was really confused, but I couldn't bring back a dead person. I drank my hot chocolate and placed it on a table, and my eyes went to the flower, which I had kept near the window. I walked closer to it and noticed the petals were shrivelled. I had made sure to keep it near the window giving it access to sunlight, and I was sure Louis had watered it when I was away. I touched the shrivelled petals, and it felt rough. I felt my hand being pricked and I hissed at the pain.

It was a surprise how the warmest green could look so dull with her staring at him like he was a vermin on the ground. His eyes then fell on Levy who was holding a bouquet of white lilies. He then remarked, “ Why is it that every time I see a lily it’s forever wilted?” He then raised his eyes and looked at Levy before curling the side of his lips as he taunted, “ Is it your effect? Because my heart gets just as wilted as these flowers when I am with you.” In response he got a glare as Levy responded, “ Then you need to look for some magical gardener for your wilted heart. I am sure many will be willing.”

“The flower is in its normal state—and that’s what makes it special.” How is a wilted flower special? “Let me tell you the story of the Bloom Festival,” he started off, so I perked up my ears and paid attention. I looked to my left and saw that Axel was also attentively listening. “Once upon a time, there was a flower that fell in love with the sun. It was a pure white flower that only thrived during the night, for the extreme heat and light of the sun made the flower wilt. The other flowers and the other stars tried to warn the two to stay away from each other—but they didn’t listen. Their love was too great that they’d rather suffer together than lose one an