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Winter’s life, she thinks, could have been perfect.
Her mother could have survived – her mother, father, and she could have lived together happily. No crying near her birthday, no constant fear of the Queen, no uncomfortable looks thrown her way by the writhing snakes of the Royal Court.
Levana, perhaps, might have been kinder – less petty – seen Winter as a daughter, not a threat. Winter would have grown up without the scars that tarnished the side of her face, grown up knowing better what it is to be loved – to have a mother .
Maybe she could have even made the choice, like everyone else, to use her gift – to twist people’s minds and call it harmless, call it just a bit of fun, laugh as their bodies, their minds, worked against them. Could have lived without bleeding palace walls and living shadows – without freezing and burning and rolling heads surrounding her.
And perhaps, had she been given a perfect life, she wouldn’t be coughing up bloodstained yellow petals.
Yellow Hollyhock – friendship, respect, admiration
Sour Apple Petites.
They were comfort, at first, a treat she allowed herself occasionally, to bring some light into her dark world.
Then Jacin heard about it. He started bringing them when he came back, always with a smile and a playful, “Treats for Trouble!” She started associating the sweet tartness with him, his sunshine, his laugh.
(When he was gone on long trips, when she missed him too much, she would buy them herself and whisper, “Treats for Trouble,” trying to imagine it was his voice and his treats.)
(And even when she couldn’t get the candy down, when her airways were clogged with petals and just-blooming buds, the blinding white in the palm of her hand cheered her up just slightly – she tried to ignore the flecks of red. She could hear his voice calling to her.)
White Hollyhock – Good Luck, Innocence, Purity
Her life was a living nightmare. Blood and ice and fire and whispers, insidious and dark, begging her to give up, to make a mistake. It was hard, but she usually managed to resist them. The few times she nearly died still haunted her, but ever since she had focused on learning how to resist the haunting siren call of death, how to keep control of her body when her mind turned traitor.
Still, though, sometimes the instinct to run overcame her – it was these times that Jacin was her greatest ally. Hand on shoulder, voice soft and gentle, serious – always serious – never moving until he was certain she was alright.
He hadn’t come to comfort her in – she didn’t know how long. Too long. Imagining him helped. Telling herself the same things he would helped.
She hasn’t tried to fling her body out the window in a long time. She hasn’t tried stabbing herself with cutlery recently, either. The urge has come and gone who knows how many times. But she’s resisted every time.
When the petals and buds turn black, creating a delightful contrast with the bright red-turning-brown of blood, she wonders if she’d be able to tell between insanity and reality. The petals feel so real, after all… and yet, so unbelievable.
When the petals start choking her, when she lies on the ground and wonders if she’ll ever be able to breathe again, she thinks this would be a lovely way to die.
Black Hollyhock – Mystery, Mysticism, Fairy Life
Winter wishes the flowers would stay fresh and blooming.
It always disappoints her, when another flower makes its way out of her body, to watch the flower wilt, the vivid red turn to a sickly brown. She’s tried putting them in water, but without a stem there’s no use. They wilt anyways, the flower looking as sad and tired as she feels.
But they’re beautiful – there’s no denying that – and sometimes flowers are all she can think about. The beauty that the flowers hold, even when they’re wilting and covered in red-brown. She thinks about flowers. Flowers and Jacin.
After all, every single pale pink flower that escapes her is meant for him.
Pink Hollyhock – Femininity, Sensitivity, Love
Levana knows about Winter’s flowers. It used to scare Winter, the thought that Levana might do something cruel to her, something to Jacin. Now she sees, though.
Winter is dying. Levana knows. And that’s the point, for Winter to die. Nothing would make Levana more happy.
It isn’t as if Winter hadn’t been expecting it.
Now she worries about the torture Levana will want to put her through. Winter knows her stepmother is not one to let things happen. She will want to make it clear that she is in control, and all Winter can think about is, what will Levana do?
Levana mentions, casually, that Jacin will be coming back. Winter cycles through emotions – happiness, fear, love – before settling firmly on determination. She will not ask for Jacin to be with her. She will die in a field of flowers for a man who she loves, and she will protect him with her life.
Then Levana says he’s most likely going to be executed. Her voice is saccharine-sweet, so obviously fake as she laments the loss of such a loyal soldier.
Unless, of course, a certain princess were to vouch for him. Make a request that he survives, and is instituted as her guard. Then Levana wouldn’t dare touch him.
Winter swallows down another attack of petals and makes the request with a feeble voice. Levana’s smile is cruel.
That night coughs are mingled with tears, as she weeps for the death she is certain is awaiting them both upon a bed of purple petals.
Purple Hollyhock – Royalty, Status, Charm, Tradition
She is going to die. Levana is going to kill Jacin and she will never recover. Or Levana will kill her first, and watch with a smile Jacin as he grapples with grief. Or perhaps Levana will be content to watch her slowly choke to death, afraid of curing herself and afraid of losing everything.
Jacin invites her to the menagerie, and she’s suddenly very aware of how she will die. Of the extent of Levana’s cruelty. Winter had been okay with her own death – but this kind of torture for Jacin she cannot bear.
She prepares a bowl of flowers. The blood looks almost invisible against the bright red petals. She changes to one of her loveliest dresses. If she is going to die, she’d best do it looking beautiful.
Countless flowers fall into the bowl on the way there. She must look insane, with blood coating her fingers and adorning her chin. At least her appearance is accurate.
She’s numb to the pain by now. She supposes that will make it easier to die.
Jacin is wearing white and gold, the colors of the sun. He looks miserable.
Winter gives him the bowl, and chokes on another flower.
“I love you,” she gasps out as she falls.
Red covers the ground, flowers that are all about to wilt. Jacin’s arms are warm and strong.
“I love you too.”
His lips are gentle and sweet. For the first time in years, Winter no longer feels like she is about to die.
The sound of a knife unsheathed.
Winter will die with a smile.
Red Hollyhock – Love, Romance, Passion
She is not dead. Jacin is not dead. Neither is Scarlet-friend, or her Wolf, or Captain Thorne, or sweet Cress, or the Earthen Emperor, or even Selene – Cinder – her cousin.
She no longer lives in a nightmare. When she falls asleep, she has dreams that are terribly sweet.
Sour Apple Petites do not give her the same joy they used to. Jacin understands. When he wants to surprise her with a treat, he does so with flowers and shared smiles. He has learned flower language for her, and she reads his sweet-smelling messages over and over again.
She is no longer afraid of loving Jacin. She is free, and every kiss they share seems lovelier than the last.
Hollyhock – Ambition, Success, Dreams