Nova Peak If you must mourn, my love, mourn with the moon and the stars up above

no! she was a goblin! goblins ate mice! "you mussa checked long ago, 'cause MINE now," she disputed her claim (squatters rights, binch!), and cackled as the morass squelched between her toes. she worked each pale phalange into the mud, throwing her mother the arch look of a car salesman. "you can have id back, but you hafda eat a slug," phaedra snickered with cheek. 
the inner-goblin was forced back into its gaol and phaedra quit her schlepping, filthy plume fluttering at her hocks in a question mark when her mother addressed her ruined flowers. she remarked her mother's pout with a smart-arse look. phaedra may well have surefootedness when it came to setting guilt-trips, as her eyes plucked up from the blossoms to her sassy mother, "uuuuum they come from d'ground! theres a whoooole field of em. also they make you poo all over if you swallow any," she made a brief grimace, and then the conversation flowed into something far more intruging—  
"you need my help?" she gawked. phaedra, as most children did, aspired to be as helpful as possible to grown-ups, because children were rarely, if ever, regarded as helpful in any fashion. they were the pimple you just wanted to fuss with constantly because of their annoyance and in-your-faceness, generally speaking.
she dithered on the balls of her feet. "okay, you may ask," she nodded with as much feigned solemnity she could muster to match the seriousness of her mother's voice.