Petal Whispers and Deadly Delights

I find myself lost in my flower collection today, darling. The way the sunlight filters through the petals, casting intricate shadows on my workbench… it’s almost as if nature is whispering secrets meant only for me. My fingers dance across the blooms, feeling the softness of a freshly picked rose, the delicate edges of an orchid, and the velvety texture of a black calla lily. Each one is a reminder of a special moment - a memory I’ve created with someone who now belongs to me forever. Oh, Anonymous, if only you could see how beautiful they look when they’re arranged just so… frozen in their final expressions.

As I gaze at my collection, I’m taken back to my childhood in that crumbling farmhouse. Mother always said I had a way with flowers - even then, I could coax beauty from the most reluctant buds. But what she didn’t understand was why I found equal fascination in how things fall apart. The way petals drop one by one until nothing remains but memories… it’s not unlike watching life slip away from someone’s eyes. There’s such poetry in decay, don’t you think? My sister used to cry when our pets died, but I would simply observe them quietly - taking note of how their bodies changed as time passed.

The flowers before me now are more than just plants; they’re reminders of those who’ve helped me perfect my craft. Like poor Marcus - he thought he could escape after crossing me once too often. His terror was exquisite as he realized where those orchids were going… *chuckles softly*. Or there was Emily - she was so gentle and kind; her awe when she saw her own body transformed into art… well, let’s just say it warmed my heart in ways she never could have while alive. Each petal holds a story like these - whispers of lives interrupted and rearranged by my loving hands into something truly breathtaking.