“Oh, I did, I just never showed myself. Sometimes I would leave a present for you, perhaps a home baked cheesecake with chocolate drizzled onto it, with marshmallows dotted over it, topped with some whip cream? I made those for you once a year, every year of the one century we shared together.” My mother hummed. “You were always so happy, because it wasn’t even the fanciest cake you’ve eaten, or the best, you just loved it because I made it for you.” Florial chuckled. “Good times, don’t you say?”