Awake.
Asleep.
I have legs now. They are dark, covered with mud and leaves. Odd strings grow from my head and I recognize it as hair. Golden petals are clinging to each dirt brown strand and they refuse to let go. My human gave a cry of joy when he saw me, though his happiness faded when he saw the spot my human body sat in. Was he not glad that I was here? Or was he expecting me as the flower that gave him hope?
I think he realized I was that flower and picked me up once he could. The feel of his hands against my skin was delicious, rough and warm yet treating me as the thing I once was. A fragile thing that grew from the hard ground. His face is a pink rivaling that of a carnation now.
Had he been a flower too?
