The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 132

She carefully pulled out the yellowed page she had kept tucked away inside the poetry book.

It was the only floral arrangement note her mother had left behind.

There was an empty picture frame in the living room, initially meant as decor by the landlord.

She removed the stock art from the frame and smoothed out the page covered in her mother's gentle handwriting, placing it perfectly inside.

She set the frame in the most prominent spot on the apartment's windowsill.

Outside, dusk was settling over Oslo.

Winter in Scandinavia meant early nights. It was only six in the evening, but the sky had already turned pitch black.

Streetlights along the road flickered on one by one, their warm yellow glow diffusing softly through the crisp air.

In the distance, people in thick coats were walking their dogs, and a few bright laughs echoed into the night.

Everything here was unfamiliar.

An unfamiliar city, unfamiliar streets, unfamiliar language.

Yet, this unfamiliarity didn't scare her; instead, it offered her an unprecedented sense of security.

Annelise walked into the bathroom and peeled off her black hoodie, which was soaked in old sweat and tears.

Standing with her back to the large mirror, she turned her head slightly to look at her injuries.

Five distinct whip marks trailed across her porcelain skin like ugly, purplish-red centipedes.

Some spots had already formed a thin scab, while others, irritated by the long flight and the friction of her clothes, were still weeping blood.

She took the antiseptic and clean gauze she had bought on the way from her suitcase.

Gritting her teeth, she used a cotton swab soaked in freezing iodine to meticulously disinfect the torn flesh.

Every touch sent a piercing, bone-deep pain through her body.

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