The Garden of Graves

There's a garden where every flower grows from the grave of someone who was deeply loved.

The garden belonged to the dead.

Every flower had a grave beneath it.

Every grave had a name.

The first flower had bloomed one hundred and thirteen years ago.

A woman named Elspeth Rembrandt had buried her husband beneath an apple tree after a winter fever took him. Three days later, a black rose appeared from the frozen earth.

By spring, there were seven.

By summer, there were thirty.

By the following year, the garden had swallowed half the orchard.

The Rembrandts had learned the rules quickly.

Do not plant flowers.

Do not dig up the dead.

Do not cut a flower from another person's grave.

And, most importantly-

A flower only blooms when someone who is deeply loved dies.

It had always been that simple.

Until the night Reid Montimer died.

Or rather-

---

A/n: lolll its been awhile little munchkins. Pinky promise this one's gonna be amazing.

Lowkey love the evil vibe these one sentence paragraphs create so imma stick to it until...well the garden stops growing....mwhaha