Greed.
Charity.
We've spoiled her, but I love her anyways, her heart big and kind and loving of anyone that goes near her. Dahlia talks to the flowers, always going with me on my walks whenever Aster cannot, though he loves me so and whines like Dahlia once did in her infanthood when he has no chance. His body is growing old though, and his hair has patched white. I am worried. I do not want him to wither far before I do.
For now, my daughter gives me the greatest advice one could give. Do not worry now, just live for the day.
I think that Dahlia will grow to be far too wise for her age within the year and my friends wholeheartedly agree.
