The flower shop had stood on that block as long as anyone could remember, a hidden little place with windows always misted over with steam and water from the hothouse flowers. The sweet scent of the flowers wafted throughout the neighborhood.
Although if you pressed most residents, the shop was rarely, if ever, open. And none of them would be able to recall ever having met the florist. It was just one of those places that had always seemed to be there in the city.
Occasionally, a prospective customer would wander inside, and the flytrap would close tight behind them.

Thanks for reading! You can support me and find links to all my other work via my Linktree!

Advertisement