Flower, Daughter, Soil, Seed
ShortStory 4,246 words
"There isn’t a more resilient thing than a small flower. Your great-great-grandmother was a yellow daffodil. Where she was born people called her narcissus. Her many heads blossomed from a loamy opening in the forest on a particularly chill spring day. They rose hungrily, searching for a few precious rays of sunlight."
Content warnings 2
deathwar
Quasar links out; the story lives on Uncanny, where the author gets the click.