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archiveofarethusa1. carnation (pink carnation; woman's love)
There were myths among flowers about carnations, about how the first of their kind had risen equally from the earth and from the tears of a broken, dying human, how they weren't quite proper plants. If it was true, the carnations had no way of knowing - they had existed longer than they had use for remembering. Regardless, there wasn't a carnation fully bloomed that hadn't felt a distant, aching longing for something they didn't have words for, whether they spoke of it or not.
Cyprian still isn't sure why his affinity for carnations earns both of them disdain.
2. Violet (blue violet; love)
When it became clear nothing in Lauren Corvo's garden wanted to murder her family, she took Cyprian to the yard to pick flowers.
"Every mystic of our sort should do this every once and a while," Lauren smiled. "It's a hidden world only we can discover."
Cyprian glared dubiously at his mother. Lauren laughed at him.
"I'm going to regret this for the rest of my natural life, aren't I," Cyprian said, staring desolately at the violets in his hand.
"We're not all that bad, are we?" The brightest violet said. The worst part, and the best, was that they weren't.
3. Daffodil (eternal life)
Daffodils were rare in Daldain. This was unfortunate, since they were likable for bulb-grown flowers. There was one in town, however, that had been around longer than Cyprian had served as an enlisted soldier. He'd been sure it would outlast his stay.
"The Immortal is older than time," one daffodil said. "I don't know why it bothers with your ridiculous face."
"The Immortal prefers the term timeless," said the old daffodil. "And you're barely out of the ground yourself."
Before fleeing town, Cyprian went to visit the daffodil one final time, but its basket had fallen and it was trod into the street.
4. Sweet pea (delicate pleasures)
There really weren't many days like this. The wind was cool, the grass wasn't too sharp, and the sweet peas surrounding the tree Cyprian rested under provided a pleasant white noise and a genuine font of information. He dearly hoped the bees that had visited them days before had been stripy, lying bastards.
From a distance, there came the sound of Kristen laughing and Cliff shouting words that Cyprian did not have to understand to disbelieve. But the sweet peas spoke of finer days and better still days to come. Cyprian rolled over and knew this, at least, wasn't his problem.
5. Lily of the valley (the return of happiness)
It was jarring, having to face the flowers in his room after returning from patrol. Patrol, which regularly entailed finding shriveled, pale bodies that were only barely identifiable. The lilies of the valley were relentlessly sunny in a way that should have made Cyprian pine for misery. Would have, anywhere else.
"Ah, hello," Sorensen smiled. His eyes both smoldered and shone, something Cyprian forgot he missed. "How are you?"
Any other day the answer would be, "Oh, fine. I'm a shell of a man. How are you?"
But right then and there, the only thing Cyprian could think to do was kiss him.
6. rose (Japanese rose; your only attraction is beauty)
The pink haired man was a mystery. Therefore, by rights there should have been a well of rumors about him. There weren't.
Yet.
"Where does he take our kin when he comes back with their scent in his cup?" the youngest rose said. "He must consume us, to have hair so pink."
"Oh, he does," an older rose said. "He calls it tea."
The youngest rose was silent.
"Oh, didn't you know?" the other rose said. "I thought it was known."
"I wonder if he drinks the blood of his kind," the young rose said.
"You're right to," the eldest said. And thus it became rose truth.
7. larkspur (lightness, levity)
"What do you talk about with flowers?" Rue said on one rare, calm night. "Are they prickly jerks, too?"
Cyprian said, "Is there a word for insensitive generalization of flowers? No, not all of them are roses."
"Roses are ill-tempered?" Rue said.
"It's okay, I'm used to insensitive humans," a larkspur said from where Cyprian was arranging it. "I have you for a primary conversationalist."
"Roses are both hateful and lovely," Cyprian said.
"Isn't that always the way?" Rue smiled.
"Isn't it just?" the larkspur said.
Cyprian was beginning to think Rue was really a larkspur that accidentally grew into a human. It explained entirely too much.
8. Poppy (white poppy; sleep, my antidote - red poppy; consolation)
He planted poppies at the site of his regiment's first victory, red and white. Red to console, to remind those standing that those the soldiers fought to protect were still safe; and white, the color of the bones that bulged from the heads of the fallen. The flower of sleep and antidote. It helped to make it all feel less real. The battle site was a graveyard in all but name, enemy and ally lying shoulder to shoulder in death, both armies nearly nothing at the end.
Something had to grow. Something would grow from this, or what was it for?
9. aster (two asters; I share your sentiments)
There were stories about asters, too, very much like carnations. Like the carnations, they were said to have grown from soil and human tears; unlike carnations, it was said they were still numb with the grief of their forebears' drink, shocked stupid from something that happened years in the past.
Unlike the carnations, asters knew well the truth of their story.
Young fingers wound their stems tightly around one another, some sick determination in the green eyes above them, and the asters were silent, still and silent; were they to scream, they could do nothing but choke and drown in the memories.
10. Daisy (michaelmas daisy; farewell)
Cyprian placed the bouquet of michaelmas daisies at his father's gravestone and stood straight, feeling desperately young.
"It's been years," Cyprian said, "And the keeper says the ivy is too afraid to disturb your grave. Of course, the ivy says your stone is too cold. That's fitting, too, in a way. I'm joining the army. Would you be proud of me?"
A cold drop of rain fell on Cyprian's nose; it looked like rain all day. It looked nothing less than a storm now.
"I might join you and Filomena soon," Cyprian said.
Morgraven proved as forthcoming in his grave as the daisies.
11. Chrysanthemum (Chinese Chrysanthemum; cheerfulness under adversity)
The chrysanthemums of the hill dreamed. They didn't dream of sunlight, which was plentiful, or of dirt, which was rich at the hill. They dreamed in wanderlust. They had neither legs nor wings, but what were dreams for? There was a world beyond they would only experience hearsay of. Though no rumors involved miracles, the chrysanthemums always asked those that could tell.
The speaking man passed them five times before they realized he could understand them. It didn't take long after for the chrysanthemums to see what no chrysanthemum of the hill ever had. What were dreams for if not realization?
12. Narcissus (selfishness)
Vampirism was overtaking the common cold in occupied Svalkysten, and Cyprian wanted none of it. Barely sixteen was hardly an ideal age to be frozen at, and he was almost certain that vampirism was illegal everywhere. He'd seen enough of enemy territory - enemy territory, mind - to know he wanted no part of this land, hadn't agreed to defend its strangers with his life.
"You're leaving," the narcissi on his nightstand noted.
"I'm getting very drunk very far outside town," Cyprian said. "I'll get disciplined so severely I'll come out of the womb saluting sixteen years ago, but I'll be alive."
13. Snowdrop (hope)
The snowdrop may not have known what it was, but it knew it was the only one of its kind on its hill, surrounded by narcissi. The stranger who took it away from that place seemed to understand the feeling.
"Who are your kind?" The snowdrop asked one morning.
"You kidding?" the stranger said. "If there was more than just me, the world wouldn't be able to sleep at night."
Life in another's pocket wasn't bad at all. And one day, the snowdrop would settle back into earth brimming with its own kind and have much to share.
For now, the journey was everything.
14. Primrose (I can't live without you)
"Are you really human?" Cyprian's primroses asked one slow business day.
"Are you really primroses?"
"Of course!" they said. Cyprian shrugged; there you are, then.
"But you can talk. You live differently and you think like a carnation. Can you imagine life without all that?"
Was life without flowers really worth the consideration? And if he never hungered under sunlight, wasn't sunlight naturally refreshing, anyway?
"I sell you wholesale," Cyprian said certainly. "I don't actually need you. You're a convenience, not a comfort."
What had his mother meant all those years ago by "their kind" of mystic, though?
15. Gladiolus (you pierce my heart with passion)
"We have a terrible problem," the gladiolas complained one day. "We like you very much."
"It's been known to happen," Cyprian said. "Give it time, you'll get over it."
So the gladiolas gave it time, and time helped not at all.
"We have waited, and we're still fond of you," the gladiolas said.
"It was a figure of - oh, for the sake of Seven," Cyprian said. "Why is that so terrible?"
"You are a florist, and we are the flora. You will pick us someday, and we will never recover, but we will not hate you. What isn't terrible in that?"
There were myths among flowers about carnations, about how the first of their kind had risen equally from the earth and from the tears of a broken, dying human, how they weren't quite proper plants. If it was true, the carnations had no way of knowing - they had existed longer than they had use for remembering. Regardless, there wasn't a carnation fully bloomed that hadn't felt a distant, aching longing for something they didn't have words for, whether they spoke of it or not.
Cyprian still isn't sure why his affinity for carnations earns both of them disdain.
2. Violet (blue violet; love)
When it became clear nothing in Lauren Corvo's garden wanted to murder her family, she took Cyprian to the yard to pick flowers.
"Every mystic of our sort should do this every once and a while," Lauren smiled. "It's a hidden world only we can discover."
Cyprian glared dubiously at his mother. Lauren laughed at him.
"I'm going to regret this for the rest of my natural life, aren't I," Cyprian said, staring desolately at the violets in his hand.
"We're not all that bad, are we?" The brightest violet said. The worst part, and the best, was that they weren't.
3. Daffodil (eternal life)
Daffodils were rare in Daldain. This was unfortunate, since they were likable for bulb-grown flowers. There was one in town, however, that had been around longer than Cyprian had served as an enlisted soldier. He'd been sure it would outlast his stay.
"The Immortal is older than time," one daffodil said. "I don't know why it bothers with your ridiculous face."
"The Immortal prefers the term timeless," said the old daffodil. "And you're barely out of the ground yourself."
Before fleeing town, Cyprian went to visit the daffodil one final time, but its basket had fallen and it was trod into the street.
4. Sweet pea (delicate pleasures)
There really weren't many days like this. The wind was cool, the grass wasn't too sharp, and the sweet peas surrounding the tree Cyprian rested under provided a pleasant white noise and a genuine font of information. He dearly hoped the bees that had visited them days before had been stripy, lying bastards.
From a distance, there came the sound of Kristen laughing and Cliff shouting words that Cyprian did not have to understand to disbelieve. But the sweet peas spoke of finer days and better still days to come. Cyprian rolled over and knew this, at least, wasn't his problem.
5. Lily of the valley (the return of happiness)
It was jarring, having to face the flowers in his room after returning from patrol. Patrol, which regularly entailed finding shriveled, pale bodies that were only barely identifiable. The lilies of the valley were relentlessly sunny in a way that should have made Cyprian pine for misery. Would have, anywhere else.
"Ah, hello," Sorensen smiled. His eyes both smoldered and shone, something Cyprian forgot he missed. "How are you?"
Any other day the answer would be, "Oh, fine. I'm a shell of a man. How are you?"
But right then and there, the only thing Cyprian could think to do was kiss him.
6. rose (Japanese rose; your only attraction is beauty)
The pink haired man was a mystery. Therefore, by rights there should have been a well of rumors about him. There weren't.
Yet.
"Where does he take our kin when he comes back with their scent in his cup?" the youngest rose said. "He must consume us, to have hair so pink."
"Oh, he does," an older rose said. "He calls it tea."
The youngest rose was silent.
"Oh, didn't you know?" the other rose said. "I thought it was known."
"I wonder if he drinks the blood of his kind," the young rose said.
"You're right to," the eldest said. And thus it became rose truth.
7. larkspur (lightness, levity)
"What do you talk about with flowers?" Rue said on one rare, calm night. "Are they prickly jerks, too?"
Cyprian said, "Is there a word for insensitive generalization of flowers? No, not all of them are roses."
"Roses are ill-tempered?" Rue said.
"It's okay, I'm used to insensitive humans," a larkspur said from where Cyprian was arranging it. "I have you for a primary conversationalist."
"Roses are both hateful and lovely," Cyprian said.
"Isn't that always the way?" Rue smiled.
"Isn't it just?" the larkspur said.
Cyprian was beginning to think Rue was really a larkspur that accidentally grew into a human. It explained entirely too much.
8. Poppy (white poppy; sleep, my antidote - red poppy; consolation)
He planted poppies at the site of his regiment's first victory, red and white. Red to console, to remind those standing that those the soldiers fought to protect were still safe; and white, the color of the bones that bulged from the heads of the fallen. The flower of sleep and antidote. It helped to make it all feel less real. The battle site was a graveyard in all but name, enemy and ally lying shoulder to shoulder in death, both armies nearly nothing at the end.
Something had to grow. Something would grow from this, or what was it for?
9. aster (two asters; I share your sentiments)
There were stories about asters, too, very much like carnations. Like the carnations, they were said to have grown from soil and human tears; unlike carnations, it was said they were still numb with the grief of their forebears' drink, shocked stupid from something that happened years in the past.
Unlike the carnations, asters knew well the truth of their story.
Young fingers wound their stems tightly around one another, some sick determination in the green eyes above them, and the asters were silent, still and silent; were they to scream, they could do nothing but choke and drown in the memories.
10. Daisy (michaelmas daisy; farewell)
Cyprian placed the bouquet of michaelmas daisies at his father's gravestone and stood straight, feeling desperately young.
"It's been years," Cyprian said, "And the keeper says the ivy is too afraid to disturb your grave. Of course, the ivy says your stone is too cold. That's fitting, too, in a way. I'm joining the army. Would you be proud of me?"
A cold drop of rain fell on Cyprian's nose; it looked like rain all day. It looked nothing less than a storm now.
"I might join you and Filomena soon," Cyprian said.
Morgraven proved as forthcoming in his grave as the daisies.
11. Chrysanthemum (Chinese Chrysanthemum; cheerfulness under adversity)
The chrysanthemums of the hill dreamed. They didn't dream of sunlight, which was plentiful, or of dirt, which was rich at the hill. They dreamed in wanderlust. They had neither legs nor wings, but what were dreams for? There was a world beyond they would only experience hearsay of. Though no rumors involved miracles, the chrysanthemums always asked those that could tell.
The speaking man passed them five times before they realized he could understand them. It didn't take long after for the chrysanthemums to see what no chrysanthemum of the hill ever had. What were dreams for if not realization?
12. Narcissus (selfishness)
Vampirism was overtaking the common cold in occupied Svalkysten, and Cyprian wanted none of it. Barely sixteen was hardly an ideal age to be frozen at, and he was almost certain that vampirism was illegal everywhere. He'd seen enough of enemy territory - enemy territory, mind - to know he wanted no part of this land, hadn't agreed to defend its strangers with his life.
"You're leaving," the narcissi on his nightstand noted.
"I'm getting very drunk very far outside town," Cyprian said. "I'll get disciplined so severely I'll come out of the womb saluting sixteen years ago, but I'll be alive."
13. Snowdrop (hope)
The snowdrop may not have known what it was, but it knew it was the only one of its kind on its hill, surrounded by narcissi. The stranger who took it away from that place seemed to understand the feeling.
"Who are your kind?" The snowdrop asked one morning.
"You kidding?" the stranger said. "If there was more than just me, the world wouldn't be able to sleep at night."
Life in another's pocket wasn't bad at all. And one day, the snowdrop would settle back into earth brimming with its own kind and have much to share.
For now, the journey was everything.
14. Primrose (I can't live without you)
"Are you really human?" Cyprian's primroses asked one slow business day.
"Are you really primroses?"
"Of course!" they said. Cyprian shrugged; there you are, then.
"But you can talk. You live differently and you think like a carnation. Can you imagine life without all that?"
Was life without flowers really worth the consideration? And if he never hungered under sunlight, wasn't sunlight naturally refreshing, anyway?
"I sell you wholesale," Cyprian said certainly. "I don't actually need you. You're a convenience, not a comfort."
What had his mother meant all those years ago by "their kind" of mystic, though?
15. Gladiolus (you pierce my heart with passion)
"We have a terrible problem," the gladiolas complained one day. "We like you very much."
"It's been known to happen," Cyprian said. "Give it time, you'll get over it."
So the gladiolas gave it time, and time helped not at all.
"We have waited, and we're still fond of you," the gladiolas said.
"It was a figure of - oh, for the sake of Seven," Cyprian said. "Why is that so terrible?"
"You are a florist, and we are the flora. You will pick us someday, and we will never recover, but we will not hate you. What isn't terrible in that?"