Wilting Flower Novels & Stories

Sibyl’s POV A breeze came and I smelled a very nice scent. The smell was light, mixed with the scent of roses and Lily of the valley, and a hint of post-rain grass. I sniffed, OH, it also has the smell of the Phoenix Flower. The Phoenix Flower is a nearly extinct flower. It is very strict with the temperature, light and humidity of the living environment, so it is difficult for them to survive. But their flowers are extremely beautiful and give off a fascinating smell.

Helplessly, I looked up at her and said, “Grandma, no matter what, I’m still your granddaughter. You can’t be so biased that you won’t even let me eat a piece of watermelon.” Grandma’s expression shifted uncomfortably. Just as she was about to continue scolding me, the sharp ring of a phone cut through her anger. “What? The court? What did you say? That’s impossible! My husband is already so old. How could he possibly commit rape? “Are you mistaken? Don’t slander my husband!” Just as I had expected, the call from the court had come to Grandma. After she hung up, she collapsed onto the sofa and burst into tears.

"I promise." Freya released a shaky breath. Then she smiled. A real smile this time. "Good girl." That night her mother taught her for the first time on how to encourage flowers to wilt. At first, Maya hated it. Every of her instinct rebelled. Creating felt natural. Destroying did not. She especially felt sad because flowers seemed to mourn when they died. But Freya remained patient. Again and again. Day after day. Until Maya learned it, becoming the only Rona in Valir’s court to be able to wilt flowers.

Suddenly, an uninvited guest crashed the wedding halfway through. It was Carlo. He was bony, wearing a wrinkled suit, and holding a wilted bouquet of roses. He staggered in front of me, babbling, "Rosa… look, I brought you your favorite roses. Won't you marry me? Let's get married today." Luca's bodyguards moved in to remove him, but I held my hand up. I took the wilted bouquet of roses and looked straight at him. "Oh, Carlo. Look at me. Take a good look... Whose wedding do you think this is? This is my wedding. Mine, and I'll be marrying Luca. And you? You're just a madman crashing someone else's wedding."

I looked into the lens, imagining Massimo’s eyes on the other side. "Himalayan lilies," I said, my voice smooth and chillingly calm. "A flower that symbolizes purity. A flower that requires a delicate touch and a loyal heart to thrive." I held the lily over the mouth of the chipper. "But when a flower is touched by a hand stained with betrayal, it rots." I dropped the flower. *Grind. Whir. Shred.* The machine roared to life, a mechanical monster devouring the white petals and turning them into a spray of brown, wet mulch.

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.

Vincent fell forward, collapsing into her arms, bloodied but alive, and his body shaking with shallow breaths. She held him tight, sobbing, “I have you…I have you…l've got you okay." The garden roared in fury. Every flower dried up at once, its red petals wilting back to black. The ground shook violently as it cracked wide beneath them. Vincent coughed, his voice weak as he whispered, “Camela…the ground…” The earth split wide open beneath them as rows of dead flowers tumbled into the abyss. The gigantic flower convulsed one last time before its roots tore free with a screeching sound, and sap sprayed everywhere.

Evangeline was spinning in circles with anxiety, frantically dialing more floral suppliers. But at this hour, most calls either went unanswered or couldn't get through. Anathea stared at the white roses in the clear glass vase. Their petals were already starting to wilt. She would need to add flower nutrients if she wanted them to bloom back to life. Sighing, Anathea said, "Forget it. That's enough for tonight." "What?" Evangeline froze in place. Lena also looked confused. "It's late. No matter how anxious we get, it won't help right now. We should rest. Good night." Anathea stood up and went into her room.

Cleansing me. Iris. The name made me scoff under the roar of the water. Not his real name, of course. I never asked. He was just another flower in my greenhouse. I name them all after blooms—delicate, temporary, beautiful in their briefness. And like any flower, when they began to wilt—when their colors dulled or they started to cling—I plucked them out at the root. Disposed of them.

He left her stunned as he took my hand in his and led me out of there into the next class which we had together. A single daffodil was in the plastic flower pot in front of a house I had never seen before. I was sitting on the porch of this house as the sun outside was bright. For some reason unknown to me, I was angry with myself that the flower seemed to be dying. I felt like I was responsible for it. The petals started wilting and the color draining from it. The life slowly slipping away.