Lily of the Valley

“If you were a flower, which flower would you be?” Prompt: Horror Romance. W/C 1281

“If you were a flower, which flower would you be?”

Ella had been drifting, lulled by the warm breeze and the hazy mid-afternoon light that was pouring through the wide-open windows. It was an almost unseasonably hot day for April. At the sound of the question behind her, she opened her eyes.

“Which flower would I be?” she asked, a smile creeping over her face. “Is that really what you're asking me right now?”

“Come on now, play the game El,” Matt said, letting his fingertips skim along her arm. She shivered despite the warmth in the room; the closeness of her body to his.

“I'd be-” Ella paused, then laughed at her first thought: a field of golden flowers, bouncing on the breeze. So appropriate. “A daffodil. They're my favorite. They're just... happy.”

He hummed in what might have been agreement, and she relaxed as she felt the tendrils of sleep reaching for her again.

“That's a nice answer,” Matt said a moment later, his voice low. She couldn’t place his tone. “I didn't ask for your favorite though, El. I asked which you'd be.”

She jerked to full wakefulness for the second time, and bit her lip to hold in a sharp retort. Whatever they were doing, it was still too new to tell him to shut the hell up so she could sleep. She decided to humour him instead, rolling to face him, studying his hazel eyes. They were close enough that his breath ghosted across her cheek.

“Why don't you tell me which I'd be, Matt? You're the gardening guy.”

“Okay.” He lifted his gaze to the ceiling in an exaggerated show of deliberation. He'd already chosen, of course. He'd chosen before he'd even asked the question, she knew that much. Matt was all about the flowers.

“You'd be lily of the valley,” he declared.

She raised her eyebrows. “And I suppose I'm meant to ask you why.”

“It would help. I can't say something endearing if you don't, can I?” He gave her a smile, and perhaps he meant it to be flirtatious, but it was like paper to her; she could see beneath.

“I suppose I have to then.” She nodded in a parody of solemnity, playing the game. “Tell me, Matt, why am I lily of the valley?”

“Because.” He pulled her in for a kiss, fingers tangling in her messy blonde hair. “You're very delicate and pretty and you smell divine.”

Ella bit at his lip. Hard. She grinned. “I see. And do you compare every girl you meet to flowers?”

He nodded, tongue darting out to swipe at the bead of blood welling up. “Only the ones I want to stick around.”

Ella laid down beside him again. She wanted to stick around.

---

They were sitting on the kitchen counter when she arrived home from work a few nights later - a riot of tiny white flowers, their sweet scent permeating the room. She touched a fingertip to one of the miniature white bells, watching it dance.

Ella stood still and silent in the middle of the kitchen floor, considering the bouquet. She half expected the curl of anxiety in her gut to take over, but the giddy excitement bubbling up inside her all but snuffed it out.

She’d first met Matt, the gardening guy, two months ago, outside the coffee shop a couple of blocks from his house. She’d said she was new to the area, and she was, of course.

It had been a meet cute. She’d made sure of it.

And now he’d finally left flowers for her.

Ella had been waiting for the flowers.

Her gaze left the dainty blooms, and she turned to the kitchen window and the darkness beyond. She picked up the white vase and carried it to the windowsill. Breathing in the sickly scent, her lips curved. Her own reflection smiled back at her.

She imagined he was out there now, watching. Wanted it to be true.

---

Ella had never claimed to be cut out for the long game.

She was sitting at Matt's patio table beside him, her eyes traversing his garden – tulips, crocuses, daffodils, bluebells, a weird snakeskin effect flower that she didn't know the name of – they were all in bloom, illuminated in the soft, late afternoon sunlight like crowds of gemstones.

She turned to Matt and asked conversationally. “Which flower was Sarah?”

He startled, or pretended to, regarding her with a careful expression. “What do you mean?”

Ella smiled. “Don't play, Matty. The Gardening Guy. I'm going to guess the hyacinths are for her. The yellow ones. Apparently, they'd be perfect for a jealous bitch.”

His hand closed around her wrist then, but she didn't wince, even when it hurt and his blunt nails dug right in.

“What do you think you know?” He asked, his grip tightening further. She wondered what it took for bone to snap.

“I know lots of things," she said, holding his gaze.. "I know you're no fool, and that you know I'm Sarah's sister.” Her smile widened. “I know you like flowers. I know you wonder why I'm here. I know neither of us believe in coincidences. I know we've been dancing.”

He loosened his grip, but she barely noticed.

“So why are you here, Sarah’s sister?” His blank look made her spine creep with pleasure. “Would you care to hear about it?”

Ella's breath caught and her heart rate picked up, pounding faster and faster in her chest. "What if I told you that you like flowers, the way I like... collecting things?” She waved a hand around the carefully manicured garden. “That's what this is, isn't it? A collection.”

He sat there silently, his stare almost crushing the air from her lungs.

She looked out at the far wall. That was where he’d plant them - in the shady area that never caught the sun for long enough - and then next spring would bring with it a lush green and white carpet of new blooms.

She would accept it, if that's what it came to. She'd initiated this, after all.

When she couldn't bear the silence anymore, she broke it. “Will you plant some for me?”

His smile was slow, and she watched it spread like a pool of blood. “Not this year.”

---

They returned home well after midnight, crowding into the shower together, laughing. They washed each other clean of dirt and blood, letting it stream out of sight down the drain.

Despite the late hour, Ella headed out to the patio wrapped in a cloud-soft dressing gown to ward off the autumn chill, flashlight in hand. Matt followed her. He grabbed her wrist and twirled her around. She laughed at the unexpectedness of the gesture, and when he pulled her close, she turned her face up to his, eyes dancing.

“She was a red tulip.” Ella said, nipping at his mouth. “So much passion, and how she fought! Right until the end.” She pulled away from Matt and gestured to the box of bulbs. “We have to plant her now. I want to see them in the spring and remember this feeling.” She threw her head back, inhaling the night air. “It's fucking invigorating.”

Matt smiled, watching her, and an edge of self-consciousness crept into her voice. “What?”

“Just remembering. You called yourself a daffodil.”

Ella laughed. “In my wildest dreams. You were right about me, of course you were.”

“Pretty, delicate, fragrant,” he smiled, “and extremely poisonous. That's you alright.”

Ella's laugh rang out across the night. “You knew me so well. From the very first.”



Word count: 1281
Prompy: Horror Romance