What The Flower Says Of Death (RELEASE SEPTEMBER 25TH 2018)

LIMITED SNEAK PEEK - First five chapters of WHAT THE FLOWER SAYS OF DEATH

Good morning everybody! I hope you had a lovely weekend. 

For a limited time I'm giving a FIVE chapter sneak peek to my readers on social media, Wattpad, and Tapas. The 5 chapters will be posted below!

I will take this sneak peek down on Sunday (August 12th) so take a look while you can, and please, if you like what you read, consider preordering a signed copy of WHAT THE FLOWER SAYS OF DEATH. Your early support helps make this release a success and I appreciateeach and every one of you!

GET YOUR SIGNED COPY NOW - LINK IN BIO!
WHAT THE FLOWER SAYS OF DEATH, FIVE CHAPTER SNEAK PEEK

I

My grandparents' estate was not how I remembered.

When I was young, the rolling acres seemed never-ending against the forget-me-not horizon, and the modest, victorian-style manor felt stately and royal, like a palace. I recalled playing in the technicolor garden, violets in the air and grass stains on my tights. Feeding the sheep and goats, their fuzzy lips tickled my palm. Going on horseback rides along the ocean with my grandfather, salt tangled in my ashy hair.

I spent many summers there as a child. Whenever my mother felt stifled by my incessant needs, I visited my grandparents for a few weeks. As I grew older and became more capable of taking care of myself, the trips waned to once in a blue moon. It had been eight years since my last stay.

Returning was underwhelming.

Unlike the warm, dewy summers, fall in Newport was desaturated and still, making my grandparents' oceanside residence appear foreboding. The white fence surrounding the property had faded to a cinder gray. The house's exterior, once a vibrant yellow, was now sun-bleached and dulled with dirt and grime. Maple trees lined straight and neat on either side of the dusty road leading to the house, their old age showing with patchy autumn leaves and skeletal silhouettes. I was akin to them, spindly fingers gripping tight onto the last of their beauty as the winter threatened to strip them bare.

I'd once remembered this place having so much life, but Death had touched it since then. Fitting that I was spending my next few months here, as I'd also recently been touched by Death.

I tucked a bitten fingernail under the bandages binding my wrist, scratching at the forever itchy skin beneath. If I'd known I would be caught, I wouldn't have slit my wrist. I loathed the idea that I now had to live with the scar.

Battle wound, I tried reminding myself. A scar was what my mother called it while expressing disappointed in my now tarnished skin. Something unsightly, something to be covered up and hidden, like why I did it.

"Remember, Vi. You're to do as your Nan says. You'll help with the chores, and take care of Grampie."

I rolled my eyes. "Grampie's in a coma." What care could I possibly provide?

My mother opened her mouth, her frosty gaze saying she was about to snap at me, but she found the willpower to hold her tongue. I smirked to myself over the minute victory.

I wasn't looking to start a fight, but I was bitter and she knew I sat on a short fuse. Rightfully so, since she was ditching me two hundred miles from home only ten days after a suicide attempt. I guess her daughter's troubling desire to kill herself wasn't enough to make my mother wake up and smell the fragrance of her own neglect. I gnawed at my lip, my annoyance itching as violently as my stitched up wrist. I was angry that she was running away again, but maybe it was for the best. I didn't want to be around her for a second longer.

I opened the car door before my mother brought it to a complete stop, forcing her to slam the breaks.

She followed me out of the car with an exhausted huff. "Violet, please. I just need some time to think. To figure out what to do. I don't know how to handle all this. I'll be back for your birthday," she reasoned, always stifling a note of frustration when talking to me.