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kat8chaByakuran has fond, warm, flowery memories of his mother. He remembers her lying in a grassy meadow with a picnic blanket spread out under her, and Byakuran remembers running to his mother with hands full of buttercups. Byakuran's mother had laughed and held the buttercup under his chin and had laughingly told him that it reflected back, so he must like yellow! Byakuran knows that the first time he dug his fingers into the wet, moist dirt of a garden it was because his mother had allowed him to help her with her flower garden. Byakuran remembers picking up a long, gross, wriggly earth worm, and tossing it away.
'Byakuran,' his mother had scolded, 'you need worms. They make dirt richer.'
Byakuran's last memory of his mother is the cold, pallid doll that had stared up at him from her casket, the strong scent of violet's hanging in the air.
'Byakuran,' his mother had scolded, 'you need worms. They make dirt richer.'
Byakuran's last memory of his mother is the cold, pallid doll that had stared up at him from her casket, the strong scent of violet's hanging in the air.
