Watching the wedding dress on the sofa, spreading like a silver lotus flower, everyone felt an ominous foreboding in their hearts.
Amelia Clarke stared at the spotlessly white dress, suddenly recalling a passage she'd once read in a book:
Not all love is beautiful, nor is all love sweet. Perhaps your love is so bleak, and perhaps the person you love doesn't love you, but loves someone else. If that's the case, please give yourself a bouquet of silver lotus flowers.
Because the language of the silver lotus flower is expectation, loss of hope, and gradually fading, lonely and desperate love.
"Where's Grace? Didn't I tell you to stay here and not go anywhere, and if anything happens, call me immediately? Where is she?" Madam Moreland asked the dumbfounded servant carrying a tray with a stern voice.
