Valley of Gold It could be worse, I could be taking you there with me

dahlia had changed. the fire of her youth was stolen alongside her sister's disappearance and the emergence of her mother's mystery illness. the woman who was once ceaslessly doting was now nearly catatonic. naturally, dahlia decided the best thing she could do for anyone was to be nothing less than perfect.

she could spend the rest of her life pretending that she didn't need, just so she could tell herself that it was fine that her mother couldn't care for her anymore.

she learned perfection quickly. now, she knew just how and where to stand. when to use her tongue and when to use her teeth.

when to leave a room without being asked.

how to move her limbs to make the most beautiful dancer's shapes, though it didn't feel like it mattered anymore now that she was dancing alone.

she knew when to speak up and when to be quiet; to let others take center stage. after all, one perfect flower in a field of weeds can command more attention than one alone in a vase.

. . .

she followed her sister in silence. it was hot, but it wasn't the heat that deterred her. she didn't have the words to describe her big feelings — and even so, she was trying not to have feelings at all. feelings were what had always gotten her in trouble, and trouble was the last thing she wanted to be now.

she responded to each of the girls with the most appropriate amount of enthusiasm she could muster. she would care for them, even when reverie wouldn't.

foxglove's words soured in dahlia's stomach. no flowers, songs, or dances could help mama. they had already tried. but she didn't have the heart to discourage anyone from trying again. 

that, to her, was love.

petal's question piques her interest.

only a little, she replied, the kind we've done before. i'll give you this pretty rock for that gnawing bone.