People like to think things are beautiful when they're not, a lie in a pretty pink bow. Flowers are no exception, and set the standard for all the fake pretty things of the world. They choke each other, all starving for food. They compete to greedily drink in the sunlight, and they'll grow wherever they please, even in humans. Yet time and time again, people call them beautiful, and time and time again, I ask the same question, the question I ask about all supposedly pretty things. What makes them, a horrible liar, beautiful?