The bodyguard at Eibon Antique Shop does not say much, always standing quietly beside everyone else. She seems to have a nickname, "Daff," which Hotori occasionally calls her. Whenever Hotori calls her that, Daffodill looks away, her ears turning completely red. As for the others... if they want to be cut to pieces, they are welcome to try using that name. Daffodill owns many eyepatches. Though she wears them less now, she still keeps up her collecting habit. Nobody can tell the difference between those eyepatches, but she firmly believes in her taste. Leather ones, patterned ones, ones with especially neat stitching... she carefully sorts them by category and places them in her small collection box. Daffodill was not born with poor vision; rather, it was the price of her Esper Ability. At nineteen, cruel truth burst into her eyes like a kaleidoscope, and since then she could see through anomalies to perceive layers of essence across time and space. Sometimes, glimpsing the truth is not a good thing. She learned about her parents' cause of death, about her own wishful emotional attachments, about needing and being needed... and lost the faith she had relied on for survival. The red-cloaked hero in the picture book silently turned her blade toward Mother, toward that hateful, beating heart that had once falsely given her warmth. If the goddess of vengeance wanted to punish her for this... then so be it. Daff longed for a happy, beautiful place, and so accidentally embarked on a journey full of metaphors. So then, what about the ending of the story? Her life until now was one monopolized by lies. It was a life in which no one needed her... there was no point in continuing. That was what Daffodill had been thinking when she met that slightly tipsy woman. The woman talked about a daffodil growing in the center of the lake, proud and aloof, seemingly impossible for anyone to pick. She naturally needed that flower too, but would not pick it. A strange woman and a strange flower. What reason did that daffodil have for growing alone there? It must depend on something. Surely it grew that way because it was rooted in others' need for it. When the wind rose, Daffodill heard a different sound of rustling leaves than before. Why not follow the woman and seek answers in the life ahead?