Every spring, the lilacs bloom filling the air with a sweet scent. Every spring, the saddening sound of a girl weeping alone with a bundle of lilacs in her frail cold hand is trapped inside, aching to get out.
Flowers always wilt away.
Her beauty matched the flower she was named after so well.
His eyes mesmerized her in ways she never thought possible.
{pronounced: Uh-mar-eh-lees}