I woke up early the next morning to the sight of fresh flowers filling the large table in my room. The flowers were soft and fresh. They're beautiful too. Their sweet scents mingled with the morning air filled the room. The sight could have been pleasant. Almost. Except that they were funeral flowers.
The lilies are stunning. Healthy, delicate white petals protruded in the standing bouquet. The roses, although an ominous black, are lovely too.
Could I have died last night without being aware of it? My still sleepy mind thought of such a ridiculous thing. As soon as I pinched my cheeks and felt the pain, I immediately dismissed the idea.
Who sent the flowers? I asked myself in utter disbelief. But with my memories temporarily gone, no one came to mind.
Would it be the man—Lucas who sent them?
