Moon_knight12

She solves murders.
She used to commit them.

Detective Aesira walks the rain-slicked streets of Old Town with a mind like a scalpel and secrets buried in shadows. Known for cracking the most confounding cases, she’s cold, brilliant—and haunted. Years ago, she silenced the killer within herself. Or so she thought.

When a series of murders begin to mimic her long-forgotten crimes—complete with chilling floral arrangements at every scene—Aesira is forced to confront a terrifying truth: someone knows who she used to be. Someone is recreating her work. And they want her attention.

As she chases a phantom through the twisted alleys of her past, Aesira meets Lucian, a man who sees through her mask and into her darkest desires. He knows everything. He may even love her. But his obsession could destroy them both.

Flowers of Death is a slow-burning psychological thriller where beauty and brutality entwine. With each case, the line between justice and madness blurs—until Aesira must choose who she really is: the hunter, the artist… or the killer.

Flower Of Death

"Let's pull the thread, then—and watch the whole tapestry unravel."

Tucked it deep, covered it with time, with silence, with good deeds and clean reports.

But the truth is, you don't bury it.

I sat alone in my apartment, lights off, case files spread like a shroud across the table.

The fan above creaked slowly. A soft, steady tick. Like the second hand of a clock I couldn't turn back.

Each file was from an old case. Cold. Forgotten. Closed.

Homeless. OD, they said. But the autopsy noted flower petals in his lungs. A detail no one followed up on.

Strangled, dumped in the canal. Daisies in her throat. I'd skimmed the case years ago, didn't even blink.

Lucian had been killing long before he revealed himself to me.

And every one of his victims had been a message.

Not just through crime scenes—but through time.

There was one photo in particular. From a decade ago. A small funeral in a coastal town, barely reported.

The boy in the background wore a black coat too big for his frame. His face partially obscured by shadow—but not enough.

His sister. Camille. Age 14. Murdered.

The same ones I'd used in a piece when I was still raw and reckless.

At the villa. Stormed in, shattering the quiet like a thrown glass.

"You followed me," I snapped. "Even before I knew you existed."

"Of course I did," he said, stepping from the shadows like a secret uncoiling. "You were the first person who ever showed me that death could be more than pain. You made it beautiful."

I could've screamed. I could've killed him.

Instead, I whispered, "You used me."

"No," he said softly. "I worshipped you."

Inside: photos. Handwritten notes. Sketches.

All from my earliest kills. Some I hadn't even documented. Some I'd forgotten.

Waiting for the moment I would rise again.

Waiting for me to become what I'd once been.

Back at the precinct, I barely spoke.

Colleagues thought I was cracking under pressure.

I saw Lucian's hand everywhere now.

In reflections that lingered too long.

Chapter 13: The Web Tightens