Part Two
The little house was unrecognizable now, a bleak husk of what had once been so safe. The wind grew ever colder, the whistling through the branches reaching a crescendo. More flowers blew away, until only a solitary bloom hung on to a stem, shaking in the wind.
…
Lemon gasped as he landed on the cold hard dirt. One of his eyes was gone, his fluff had all been burned off, and he bled from every orifice. He tried to move, but he could barely drag himself along on the burnt stumps that had once been his legs. Why? Why couldn’t he just die? Why was he trapped in this Hell?
The sun rose, golden light illuminating the house, but somehow it didn’t seem to be any brighter than before. He couldn’t recognize the ruin, but somehow he knew that it was his old home. But now it was uninviting, as devoid of life as he was. As broken and shattered as he was.
The cold wind tore across his skin, what little fluff remained offering no protection. He shivered, the chill biting into his tortured flesh. The cold was somehow worse than the pain, somehow a reflection of his despair. Somehow, it seemed to take everything from him.
A movement caught his attention. A single white flower hung onto a dead branch, the only flower left. As he watched, the wind pulled it off. But instead of blowing away on the wind the flower drifting above him, almost as if it was beckoning him to follow.
Dragging himself inch by agonizing inch, he followed the flower into the dark forest. Hours passed, each moment more torturous than the last, but he didn’t falter. The flower beckoned, and he followed.
Suddenly, he came upon a clearing. The sun shone brightly here, and for the first time in what seemed like eternity he felt warmth. The flower drifted along, hovering over a pile of other blossoms. It looked so inviting.
With the last of his strength, he dragged himself onto the pile. The softness soothed him, giving him the first peace he’d felt since the nightmare began. As he drifted off, he looked up at the flower.
“Tank 'ou.”
…
Sarah knew Lemon would get over it. After all, fluffies were well known for their ability to heal. What could a little cancer do? The vet was just fearmongering when he talked about the cancer spreading and how it was terminal. Lemon WOULD get better, they would all see.
Speaking of, it was time to check on him. She kept the door to his room locked, now, since Lily had been so intent on murdering him without letting him have a chance to recover. When she checked her pocket, however, she noticed that the key wasn’t there. She must have left it somewhere.
As she searched through the house, she noticed that the door to Lemon’s room was ajar. Instantly, she dashed to the door, only to see Lily standing over Lemon, an empty syringe in her hand.
“What did you do?” Sarah asked, aghast.
“I gave him the only peace I could. I did what you should have a long time ago.”
“WHY?! HE WAS GOING TO GET BETTER? WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL HIM?”
Lily just stared down at Lemon silently. In the silence, there was only one sound.
“Tank 'ou.”
[An exploration on how a fluffy with survivor’s guilt might perceive the world as they pass away, and how a loving owner who can’t let go could easily become a monster.]
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So lemon had cancer due to the flower she ate? 
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Nothing in the story is literal outside of the segments with Lily and Sarah, it’s all in Lemon’s head. Lemon had terminal cancer. His owner wasn’t willing to let him go, so she just dragged out his suffering, hence becoming the monster in his dream. The flower was Lily, and her gift was an end to his suffering.
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Ah so that chapter he collapses is cause his cancer gotten worst already. 
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Oh ouch, that was even more sad than I thought. Poor little Lemon. He’d already suffered so much. 
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