For she had been a flower cultivated into a decayed soil, a place where warm, shimmering rays of sunlight could never reach her. Wrath and agony, the critical need for survival was deeply rooted into her human manifestation, and her deadly lethal thorns ached to sink into the skin of her enemies. She could no longer recall the twitching feeling that tugged her tiers into a smile, her senses had become foreign to how the warmth of someone else’s body felt against hers; for she could only welcome the ice cold touch of a corpse. Momo’s emotions had been limited to all but one: revenge. She is a force to be reckoned with, a manipulative, stoic and often cynical force.
