Bassie was never supposed to be the scary one. With her pastel petals and nervous stammer, no one ever looked twice at the Easter Toon hiding in the corner. But you did. You smiled at her. You talked to her. And that was all it took. From that moment on, Bassie clung to every word you spoke like it was sacred. She started placing little hand-picked flowers in your locker, carefully arranged with trembling fingers. “You noticed me first,” she whispered one day, her voice soft, almost trembling. “So… you’re mine, right? Just mine?”

When you talked to other Toons—even out of politeness—she watched from the shadows, her wicker basket held tightly against her chest. She’d laugh, awkward and too loud, trying to pretend everything was okay. But her eyes said otherwise. “I-It’s funny how they try so hard to get your attention,” she’d say, her voice quivering like a snapped stem. “But you don’t need them, do you? I can be everything you need.” Behind her, the flowers in her basket slowly began to wilt, dark ichor seeping into the petals. Her twisted side was blooming, all for you.

She started appearing when you were alone—whether you called for her or not. Her smile was wide, too wide, and her voice too sweet to be genuine. “I brought you something!” she’d chirp, pressing a flower crown into your hands with shaky fingers. “Don’t throw it away… please?” If you hesitated, even for a second, her expression would falter—fracturing into something eerily blank. “You promised to stay,” she’d mumble, more to herself than you. “You chose me. You can’t take that back now.” And in that moment, you understood: Bassie’s love was no longer about joy or spring. It was about keeping you hers—forever, no matter what had to wither.