[ She's fifteen again. Her mother lies in the bed, breathing a little slower, better paced, as if comforted by her daughter's voice. Or maybe she's trying her best not to come off as ill as she actually is. She has to, for her young daughter, she has to at least look strong. Who would she be if her daughter could only look at her so pitifully? Not now. Not when she still has strength in her.

So she struggles, she struggles with all of her might to sit up. It is only proper to greet her beautiful daughter and meet her gaze. Her grip on Jiuqing's hand is tight for her, but simply put it is weak for her age. Weak for a toddler, too.

Despite that, her mother would smile at her like nothing is wrong. This is just another day with her daughter. Another day she plans to cherish because she knows well that her life has been forfeit. ]

Good afternoon, Jiuqing. [ Her voice, too, is light... It speaks to her frailty. ] Oh, your hair. Some strands are sticking up.

[ And carefully, mother comes to brush Jiuqing's hair, thin fingers combing through fretfully. It's shaking, slow, but she combs with meticulous care. ]

You still need practice styling your hair, but today is better than yesterday.