Eye of the Beholder.
It is with gentle grace that one feels inspired enough to try their hand at something new. Some are born with a green thumb, others lack the patience to tend and care for something that is not human or animal, yet still feels. A talent that cannot be taught, a kindness that even those with the warmest embraces may lack. Lilita is of the latter - she had never quite had the time to care for something that could wither away upon the smallest lack of judgment. Something so fragile that can wilt if loved too much, drowned in water - or perish from not being cared for enough, neglected for days.
And yet, the ballerina finds herself willing to try after interacting with the goddess. Perhaps it was the warmth within Cybele's smile or the surrounding scenery of bright and youthful foliage containing more flowers that Lilita could recognize. Despite being decorated with golden roses rested upon the crown of her head and outfit, they were not grown naturally - only crafted by the most intricate of designer hands, nimble fingers forming every petal with unsung attention to detailing. There was nothing but perfection for the primadonna dancer, even within her own self-expectations. Perhaps that is why she finds herself nervous when watering the seeds upon the flower beds that are carefully placed upon her windowsills - even though she measured and divided cups of water with the utmost care, neither too much nor too little, her mind races with the fear of failure.
She seeks nothing further than to make Cybele proud of her, or to at least notice her efforts, whether it is physically caring for something other than herself or the arrangement that was carefully picked. She had poured hours of research into the language of flowers, carefully crafting an assortment of blossoms that both tied in with everything Lilita sought to be, to say to the world and moos around her, as well as maintaining aesthetically pleasing visuals.
Within the selection sits pink roses, selected to symbolize the gratitude and admiration she holds both for the Goddess and the moos around her, for maintaining a home she can happily return to with security, a place to unwind and relax from her performances. Pink dahlias, for grace and femininity - two traits Lilita has strived to accomplish her entire life. White bellflowers, for support and romance. Baby's breath, a flower popular in wedding bouquets symbolizes everlasting love and a pure heart. Golden begonias, richness, and contentment. Last but not least, a flower carefully selected to immortalize the honor of meeting Cybele herself, yellow iris seeds scatter within the seed mix - symbolizing wisdom, hope, and purity.
Manicured fingers gently pat the moist soil, an exhale of breath relieving some of the tenseness within her posture. She hopes that she gave the correct amount, that she had selected the perfect place where sunlight can gently caress the budding flowers when they reached through the dirt.
A golden gaze carefully skims over her handiwork, hands brushing against each other to shake off any remaining dirt - she held no interest in staining her attire, so a hand wash was also in order before she even grazed a strand of fabric. A small nod of approval is given towards the flower beds before her. She had to have faith that they would grow and flourish alongside her best efforts.
After all, the flowers were much like her. It was almost comforting. Familiar - like a nostalgic glance within the mirror of time. True beauty is something that is earned through action and experience, it comes from within - one can be attractive, but beauty comes from effort and in the way someone carries themselves. The flowerbeds holding seeds but no blooms was much like her as a calf. Hardly something to give a second glance towards, but with the combined effort of her tending hands and nature itself, she can only entrust that they will bloom as well.
