A garden of flowers with pink, bloodshot eyes, and a tendency to cry in response to rejection or aggressive behavior The following is a journal found at the location the abnormality was discovered: January 1st- For the new year. I will make a beautiful garden by May! I just need flowers, right? Then perhaps I can finally feel beautiful myself.
January 12th- It has been hard work, preparing all the pots and soil is shockingly tedious, when I saw myself in a reflection while working, [The rest of the page is torn out.]
January 24th- I finally got the entire garden arranged just how I want it! Now I need to figure out the flowers I want, I don't want anything boring like roses or tulips, I saw some dahlias last summer, so maybe I can plant some of those. The way they go from a mere bud, to the most beautiful, vibrant flowers, I'm honestly a little jealous of flowers. I wish I could bloom instead of wither.
February 28th- I've spent a long time thinking about what flowers I wanted. I only want dahlias, they remind me so much of what I want, a change, the chance to show what my very being feels, yet cannot show. March 1st- I will never turn out like the flowers will, people do not bloom into their most beautiful selves.
[A series of pages were torn out, one was recovered during further investigation, the page is heavily damaged, so efforts to restore the original texts were attempted]
[Torn Page]
[Ma]rch 11th- [Why d]oes it take so long to make a flower bloom? I want to be perfect now. Not when I [illegible] I want to be as beautiful as my heart. Not suffer in this wretched bud fo[rever.] [There is a drawing of a dahlia under the entry] March 29th- The flowers bloomed early. Time to show everyone! March 30th- They destroyed it. They screamed, and destroyed it. Was my garden that vile? I only wished to have some beauty in my life. A transformation of what isn't me, to me, my only wish.
May 1st- The time of rebirth. I can finally be my most beautiful self. right?
May 2nd- I am blooming, my friends screamed. my family showed hate and fear. Is my beauty that hideous to you? Am I doomed to choose living alone or tolerate the reflection?