Daffodil

If anyone asked what Gilan's favorite flower was, he would probably answer a daffodil. Not from any particularly knowledgeable reason, but more one from sentiment. His mother had always been especially fond of the bright, cheery flower. She had a small garden in the castle courtyard, filled with different varieties of flowers, from roses to peonies to tulips, but mostly daffodils. Yellow daffodils, white daffodils, gold daffodils with striking orange centers.

He had vivid memories of walking with his mother down the garden lane, his hand in hers, listening intently as she named the different flowers. "Which one if that?" He had asked, kneeling beside a blossom he didn't recognize. His mother had smiled and gently stroked the bloom.

"That, little bird, is a daffodil. It's my favorite type."

"Why's that?" Gilan said in reply, curiosity shining in his blue eyes.

His mother had laughed, pressing a light kiss on his face, her smooth hair gently tickling his cheek. "I love them because they represent hope and new beginnings. They're the first flowers to bloom in the spring. Even after a long, hard winter, they still bloom."

Gilan never forgot his mother's words. Every spring, he would eagerly anticipate the first blooms from the flowers in front of his cabin, and the hope he had learned long ago to recognize from them.


I wish we learned more about Gilan's mother. She's going to appear in a few chapters in I'm Not Overreacting.

Please review!

-TrustTheCloak