He calls my flowers delicious, and I cock my head slightly. It's almost too sweet for me, and I like sweet things. I had doubted that he would like the almost pungent taste of too much sweetness, but I was proven wrong. He claims that they are delicious. Decadent? I do not believe so. Divine? Perhaps in a magical way, but not in taste. The flowers are sweet and bitter, dry and moist, everything and nothing. Each petal, fragile, easily broken, yet magic runs actively through their eerily green petals. They were sickly looking, but beautiful to me, to those who care enough to admire. Flowers of mine bloom and blossom with magic. Could anything truly be a match for such a rarity as these flowers? They are core-less, merely composed of velvet petals and held with magic upon a thin stem. This stem, it's smooth, refined. There are no leaves protruding from the cover of moist guts of this stem. Would the flowers be perfect to everyone if they were beautiful, draped in a more magical color, much like aureate? I like my flowers. They are mine. They are a defining characteristic. With these flowers, I can do much. Fight without the fear of scars and bruises, but also save lives. I had yet to find a more amazing power. Even the ability to destroy lives seemed nothing in comparison. This life-giving flower had hung daintily between my lips just a moment ago. The power the thing possessed, it made me vibrate with chills. I had not seen any magic other than that of crafting. Crafting, it was startlingly beautiful, but I didn't see the beauty and power of crafting. Was I missing something?

My lids flutter for a moment, ridding my lashes of a few small drops of rain. I felt my tresses stuck to my neck like honey on fabric. The feeling was gross, weird, and far too strange. My hair was flattened by the added weight of water, and it molded on the supple curves of my thin neck. I felt myself getting lost in my thoughts a second time. What had the beast said? I was lost, confused. It was his voice against my brain. I wanted to think, but also hear. Why couldn't I do both? My brain seemed to venture elsewhere, whereas his voice stayed constant. I could almost feel what he was going to say, suggest, ask. Was this why I dared to let my mind drift away? Was I so sure I would know what he would say that I didn't even have to pay attention? It was impossible to do this. This orange beast is a stranger. his name, still unknown. He was the deepest abyss, a vast and untraveled place. He was new and interesting, a mystery, a puzzle, a black hole. I was just the scientist, trying to learn and experience this. I tried to reach the bottom, but it was too deep, too large, yet still fascinating. He is the novel one can't simply put down, each page is a new twist, each chapter a new problem and solution. He is a novel, for sure, but I wonder how this one will end-- be it in eloquent words of wise Shakespeare or insightful lessons of Seth Godin, I was sure I would love it. Then I realized... There are only three endings possible. 1: A happy ending. 2: A sad ending. 3: A neutral ending. This was the downfall. So many pages leading up to what? Is it truly worth reading this book? Yes, the words printed may be slightly different, but everything is a neutral boring. Even the cliff hangers aren't anything special, they've been downgraded to something less.

"Why fill the pages of your life with nothing of importance? Why not write your story out to be something grand, lustrous, brilliant? Why be the "one who saw everything happen" when you can be the one that "makes everything happen"? What could we possibly do while running from rain? I do have reason to believe you are an interesting horse, but you cannot even understand my words. Yet, maybe that's what will make this night interesting...." I whispered, my voice just loud enough for him to hear. I tried my best to mimic the 'Helovian' accent (albeit it wasn't very good, though). But this was more about content, should he understand. And 'this' being a glimpse of my inner mind, my mechanics. I'm not wired in an average way. I'm different. I think about things other would ignore. I'm not about to focus on one detail when the overall picture is much more pleasing.

Then he brings up my flower once more.

I think he was happy. I am not sure, as I cannot detect lies well. Perhaps he was one of those that enjoyed scars, wanted to keep them. Well.... Too bad, I guess. The glorious powers have already worked. He is healed of his injuries. "It was nothing, but now you must promise to help me when I need it." I replied, continuing my attempt and helovianizing my accent. Yet my request revealed another part of me. This was something perhaps mature to say, but who said I had to be mature all the time? I wanted to act like a filly in spring sometimes. oh yes, I'm the perfectly awkward mix of intelligent, feminine, naive, and childish. And now is when I wondered if people knew me as the jack of all trades, master of none. Was I doomed to this title of master of none for life? Or would I change into something more specific?

Ooc:; oh wow um okay. She got really weird ;~; and this was kind of everywhere and confusing, <.> @[Hector]