White Rose | CPN [2]

White Rose | CPN [2]

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Volume 2 | A Cell Phone Novel The wake of the garden's farewell, Eira steps into a world reshaped by quiet magic and old memory. She carries with her a single white rose and a feather gifted by something unseen-symbols of what she has survived, and what she has become. But the world beyond the garden is not what she left behind. Far to the north, smoke coils from the heart of the forgotten mountains. Villages whisper of shadows walking in daylight, of flowers blooming black, and of red roses that burn instead of heal. Something ancient is waking-something that does not mourn, only hungers. Drawn by a call she cannot name, Eira journeys into a land fractured by grief that festers instead of blooms. Along the way, she meets others touched by sorrow: a soldier haunted by a voice he cannot silence, a child who remembers too much, and a woman with eyes like stormlight who speaks to fire. As the earth itself begins to tremble, Eira must decide what it means to carry not just her own sorrow-but the sorrow of a world. The white rose cannot bloom in this land of ash... unless she plants it herself. This is not a return to the garden. This is a walk through the fire. - This story was originally published in 2017.
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Featured by @Romance .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. "Why do you make these paper flowers?" He asked, looking at her through the mirror. "They don't wither like the real ones." She replied, aligning the entire bunch of paper flowers. "But they don't have the fragrance." He politely challenged her. He was a soldier. Chivalrous was his middle name. "These paper flowers, they stay with you for as long as you want. You don't really have to throw them away like people discard the real ones. They pluck them for the fragrance and colors. But once that fades, they throw it away." She said, finally looking up at him. "Not everyone!" He added almost immediately, taking one more step forward. It could be his height or his longer stride, or maybe the room was too small as it only took him two steps to reach her. "Yeah! Of course! Exceptions are there, like poets and people in love." She walked in a different direction, putting those flowers on the table. He rolled his eyes with a defeated sigh. She was a teacher. Arguing with her was as futile as making a sand castle on a seashore. "You know, gone is the era when people used to preserve the flowers of their loved ones. We don't have people like that anymore!" She said as she faced him. "We don't have that kind of love anymore." He said looking straight into her eyes. She held his gaze through the mirror for a while, trying to read through him. "I agree." Murmuring under her breath, she turned around. Taking a deep breath, watching her retreating figure, he brought out his favorite poetry book from the shelf. After he was sure she was not looking, he ruffled through the pages till he found a dried Hibiscus. The very same one which had fallen from her bag when he first saw her. With a small smile, he cautiously caressed the petals. He closed the book with a fond sigh and found her looking at him. She couldn't hold his gaze for long and looked down, crimson covering her cheeks. He shook his head with a chuckle.

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