“i am not a peony,” cries the ranunculus. “peonies are fickle, only showing their frilly faces for a month or so, unless you have coin enough to bribe them. they’re large and garish and demand all the attention. they make women faint all the time.” the little flower folds his leaves across his stem with a harumph. “and besides, they’re pollinated by ants!”
lisianthus pipes up, assuming ranunculus is through with his tirade. “actually, sometimes i think you look more like an anemone when you’re all opened up like that.”
ranunculus simply glares.