terrifyingly comfy place

Disappointment; Cressida

The little toddler skipped playfully into the beautifully unblemished world that lay upon her, ready to jump into it.
She found herself in an alluring field of nature. In the field was a bouquet of daisies. As the toddler examined the flowers, she found that, oddly one exquisite yellow daisy stood in the abundance of white. As she plucked the flower, she felt a pant of guilt on her, plucking the days out of it's home, though it did feel quite out of place.
The daisy did have a welcoming aura that spoke to the oblivious toddler, so she could not help but befriend it.
She decided to give the daisy a name of her own. For all it's beauty and loyalty, she settled on the name Amista.
The toddler, from that day on, spent everyday and every moment she could with Amista. She went to sleep with Amista next to her. She woke up with Amista. She ate all her meals with Amista. She played games with Amista. She went on trips that she couldn't quite distinguish between the reality of it and the imagination of it, with Amista.
She felt deeply and emotionally connected to Amista. Amista was her only true friend. She felt truly comfortable around Amista. She could say anything. She did not have to watch her tongue around Amista, like father and mother say. She was very grateful to have found Amista. She wondered if anything in the world really mattered to her other than Amista. Small, stupid tasks irritated the toddler, because they took away dear time from hanging out with Amista.
Only one day, the toddler woke up with a familiar feeling of eagerness to start the day with Amista.
She turned to find Amista regularly lovely, saturated petals to be rather hard, dried up and pale. They were shrieked and drooping, her finger reached to brush the petals, but it was as though it was a thorn. It felt sharp, it felt unfamiliar. One petal cracked and fell soundlessly to the carpeted floor of the toddler's room.
That was when her tears began. They dropped straight from her eyes to the carpet as soundlessly as the petals. She was not as sad as she was angry, though.
She felt anger at herself. At her stupidity. How could she have believed in a loyal friend? In no disappointments? Stupid. Stupid. She wanted to rip her hair out with her hands and at the same time cry her lungs out.
She would not find anyone that could ever treat her right like how she treats them, she thought.
It was then, she realized, that perhaps the daisy's name was destined to be not Amista, but Cressida.