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    Summary

    "I'm—I—" he stammers, fright infesting his synapses like a colony of ants, and, fully comprehending that it is but a lost cause, translucid pearls of water rolling down his face, gracing the constellations of freckles etched into his skin, he wordlessly rolls his sleeve up, hiccuping with discomfort.

    In between the gash that adorns his limb, embedded in flesh and bone, copiously feeding on webs of crimson, lies two flowers—one as cinnabar as rubies, one as purple as amethysts.

    Scar gasps, the sound muffled, swallowed by the rain.

    Grian mourns. The poppy and the sole strand of lavender wilt, their petals rotting, as if consumed by his grief.

    Or: Scar and Grian live in a dystopian world where flowers are incredibly rare, so much so that they are symbols of luck and hope. Because they only grow on certain people's skin, though, the government has decided to capture individuals, and to profit off their resources. Grian has poppies and lavender growing on his forearm. Scar is a governmental official.

    [day 1: flowers/grief]

    Series
    Language:
    English
    Words:
    616
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    1/1
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  2. 01 Sep 2025

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