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She sits on the stool and watches the hills for a while, the green grass overtaken by flowers that bloom in every direction.

[break][break]Her mouth curls upward into a small smile, her left hand picking up the brush from the palette. She had almost forgotten what season had come to pass, but this particular season is something she could never push away from her thoughts. She dabs the brush in green paint and begins her first stroke, staining the previously white canvas.

[break][break]In Spring, flowers awaken. The snow melts, and any figment of Winter is gone. The sun rises and finds the flowers and trees greeting it with such splendor and happiness, almost as if grateful for the previous cold season had ended, and thus begins yet another new era.

[break][break]But the Spring years ago, she had known... it had been awful.

[break][break]The flowers still bloomed, but they are covered in blood... the blood of her fellow kin, who had been slain by selfish people, who thought of them as monsters and fiends... she still could not see why they would think of that. They do transform into beasts, who lurk in swamps with skin replaced with scales, but then again... she was but a child when it had occurred. She may have been the only one who had escaped the hands of those merciless men.

[break][break]Tulip stops painting for quite a bit, staring at her half-finished painting. Many of the unlucky events in her life had always occurred during the Spring; the death of her family only one of them. She also remembers, that after running away, she had met a man... a man so kind as to take her in and take care of her with how much he has. He was poor, but he was contented with her. In a way... she had become a father to her.

[break][break]Drowning the brush in water, she dabs it in brown paint and begins to draw a cottage in a faraway hill.

[break][break]...I don't remember much of him anymore.

[break][break]It makes her truly sad, but truthfully, she had forgotten about him as she grew older. After all he'd done for her... she feels like a traitor.

[break][break]The painting is almost done, but there is still so much missing. Where are the flowers, she questions herself, and why haven't they been painted yet? She dabs the paintbrush in pink paint without even washing it; she does not even care about her brush's cleanliness anymore. Soon the canvas is filled to the brim with pink and purple tulips, on the left an adoration of yellow and orange carnations. Lavender hangs in the air through air-suspended vases. They remain protected by a building of glass, that stands firm and reflects the light of the sun.

[break][break]She had drawn the small greenhouse that her family had previously owned.

[break][break]The woman smiles, contented with the result of what she had drawn. But there is a sadness to her smile as well, as she knows what had happened to this family's precious possession. Tulip lifts the canvas and sets it on the ground to dry... then she turns back to the hill of flowers, her smile replaced with a frown.

[break][break]( there is no more greenhouse, only the remnants of it which stands as a broken glass building. the dead petals of the flowers they had grown litter the ground, some standing on the edges of newly grown tulips and carnations. this very greenhouse was where her entire family had been killed, in the midst of the plants they so loved and in front of the little Tulip they all cared for and loved so much )

[break][break]...Why does she keep coming back here?

[break][break]There is no closure. There will never be a closure.

[break][break]Why search for answers when they could not be found anymore?

[break][break]She closes her eyes and sighs, collecting her things. She must leave; there is nothing to gain from painting here. Her latest canvas may make it to the art auction... once her equipment are in her bag, she turns to leave the flower hills. Unsatisfied.

[break][break]She has made it a Spring tradition to come back there only once a year.

[break][break]But returning only brings her the pain Spring had given her so many years ago.

[break][break]( because perhaps she does not accept what had happened. perhaps to live again in the memories of her family who were unjustly murdered for existing )

[break][break]...For her, Spring truly is a cruel season.

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