Defiantly one of my stranger stories. This isn't one of those fics that I just write whenever I want. Whenever I get an idea of a character's point of view I jot it down. It's a story I come back to now and again.

Mute: Okay, Friendly's up next! And he has a very strange mind…

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It's quiet now. Usually I like the silence. It's my second favourite sound next to the buzz of chatter and the warm communication of normality. But not this type. No this is cold, clammy and foreign. It's the calm after the storm.

I can't believe Bold snapped at Father like that. No, wait, I can believe that he's Bold and being unreasonable is part of his nature. I disapprove of such actions. Our parents are so good to us; none could ask for better. So how does Bold express his thanks? By calling Father a coward and charging off with this absurd notion of revenge. So he turns his back on his family and, well, personally I think Father should have put his paw down…did Bold even stop to consider the effect his action will have on our dear mother? No…of course not…she's pale, taunt and her heart is breaking…of course her heart was already brutally torn in two and hurtled into the dust before when we found…well…

So now here we are Mother, Charmer and me staring at each other not sure what to do or say. If I could wipe away the situation I would but…urgh, I hate being powerless…because I'm the role model. The perfect one. The one who does what he is told, praised often, the polite one who is fiercely loyal to both his family and his heritage. The mild one who would never raise his voice against Father unlike my dear brother. The idiot. Mother's worried sick about him. Hell, even I feel concern on his behalf. I never underestimate what he could do yet I really don't think that he's thinking straight. Why can't he be more like me? I mean I'm perfect or at least I try to be so that nothing goes amiss. I hate change. I detest it. And the only way to keep things the same is to be perfect. How can things change when you're perfect? Answer: they can't. Leastways that's the way I see it. Of course Bold never fits in with my plans due to his rashness. So I view him with…scorn? Yes, that's the right word.

See our parents are older and therefore wiser so if we listen to them nothing can go wrong and everyone will be happy. Of course someone just had to mess up this routine as well. Someone who never pays attention. And look where that got her…

What's mother saying? About how she doesn't want to lose anyone else? Does that mean Charmer and I have to run off to get your attention now? In order to receive your worry? Just look at me! Please…I've tried so hard to be everything you and Father have ever wanted me to be. Isn't that good enough for you? How can someone be better than perfect? Answer: they can't. But if you really want me to excel past the point of perfection I guess I could give it a try. The trouble is I might fail. And I've never failed before…at least I've never disappointed you.

You cry for her. Despite the fact that she always disappointed you, failed you. But you still cry…why? Do you love us the more imperfect we are? Do you nurture her lack of perfection? Do you love us for our faults? I guess you do…maybe it's all part of a mother's job. Yet is it not also the duty of a mother to love her sons and daughters equally? But if you didn't then you wouldn't be perfect. And you and Father are perfect…aren't you?

Why am I having such thoughts? It's this damn situation! It has disturbed our daily basis of living and I hate it, I hate it, hate it! She's messing up things from beyond the grave! She's spoilt everything! Is that fair? I'm sick of being fair!

She was fair. And she never tired of it. She never passed judgement on anybody, she always treated everyone equally. She did it so effortlessly and with such grace…it puts all my efforts to shame. What does it mean to be perfect? Is it doing what you're told, thinking in the shape or pattern you've been taught to think by two individuals? Or is it more simple? So simple that only one that lies among the butterflies can truly grasp its concept.

So without my perfection…what am I left with? Regret? A hollow shell? Who is Friendly? Wish I knew…maybe she would know. Then again I never really bothered to listen to her opinions. Though she never talked much in the first place. Too late now to ask anything. That's where the regret comes in. Rolling and rolling in, unstoppable. Too late, too late, too late. A chant that echoes round and round.

See that flower? The pink one? The one right next to the holly bush? She was regarding it with an intense fascination yesterday as though nothing was more important than that simple plant. As if it had more worth than the hunting lesson mother was drilling through our heads. I didn't understand the point of such a worthless pastime…not the lesson but staring at a flower? Where's the knowledge to be gained from such an activity? What's the point? Answer me that if you can. I never understood her strange ways before and I don't pretend to comprehend them now.

Since I can't question her now I guess I never will…well I could ask the small creatures she was forever communicating with. That's if you could call it communication. She would just look at them and something sparkled through her head…I can't explain it…unfortunately I don't possess the same power as her. I can't speak the silent language with her 'friends' that she mastered with no trace of an effort. So I'm ignorant.

Stupid. The flower will wilt soon. The small don't last forever. The petals will drop and leave the stalk bare and naked. Reminds of a living thing that's conscious of proper thought. The petals are the soul and the stalk is the body. In death no one knows where the petals go; the wind steals them away. And even if you did find them it would be impossible to reinsert them back onto that stalk.

Yes…flowers don't last forever…life was perfect until the biting wind came along and ripped off one of the petals in this family. I swear I can already see our stalk wilting, blackening, rotting…

What are we supposed to do now? Father will know. He always does. Yes, I'll ask him when he gets back. So why is this icy feeling of doubt settling in my stomach?

It's stupid but I think I'll miss her. No, I'm missing her already. Which is surprising because I didn't expect to. And it's making me feel insecure and weak. Weak like her. It's all your fault Dreamer. You're making me feel this way…and I don't want to! I don't want any of this!

I hate you.

…No, I don't. I'm just confused and hurt. We all are. If this is price of perfection then being normal is looking more appealing by the second. Anything to stop all the hurt and the pain…

Maybe I'll pick that flower for you Dreamer and give it to your dead stalk later on. But not now. I need to think.

Tell me Dreamer…where did he take your petals…because we need them back…