look what you made me do

honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

The Tower in Stormbreak rose high above the city like a spine of black bone, its sheer stone face gleaming cold and unwelcoming beneath the pale Flowerbirth sun. Flora had only ever seen it from a distance before. Up close, it was worse.

Every step echoing in the vast corridor feels too loud, the hush around her so unnaturally perfect that it prickles down the back of her neck. Her heels click sharply on the polished floor, each one a declaration of defiance she doesn’t quite feel. The queen of Torchline is dressed the part, of course—her wrap dress is a bold riot of deep tropical green cinched at the waist with gold, airy enough to move easily in, but still heavy enough to drape with purpose. Her curls are swept into an artful braid over one shoulder, but tendrils have escaped, kissed by the wind and worry. Gold glints at her fingers and throat, the usual rings on her hands—protection, truth, invisibility—each one warm and comforting against her skin.

But beneath the gloss of power, nerves coil tight in her belly. Her stomach flips like a fish on the dock, breath catching somewhere between her ribs. She is very aware of how alone she is. Of how every step she’s taken here has been her own.

Except for the soft weight of Spice pressed to her shoulder, tail coiled like white ivy around her neck. The dragonling hums softly against her skin, and Flora reaches up, brushing her fingers beneath the creature’s jaw with silent gratitude. I know, she thinks.

Then, taking a breath she hopes looks steadier than it feels, Flora lifts her hand and knocks—twice, sharp and clear—on the door to Dahlia’s chambers.

And waits.

Flora will not be kept waiting long.

It might look as though the door swings open of its own accord, but that's only because the room within is dark, the heavy curtains drawn, and Dahlia wears black. The Doubletake will be able to see the Reaper's departing form as she strolls back behind her desk, taking the time to light a candle or two, leaving them in an eerie twilight. Dressed in a sharp pantsuit with her hair swept into an effortless updo, Dahlia nevertheless seems solemn. Hollow. Hungry.

And around them, if Flora decides to look closely, she might notice the deep gouges in the walls and their decorations; tapestries shredded, plush furnishings spilling their guts, delicate trinkets reduced to shards of nothing. The crystal glasses the Reaper fills are still intact, at least, the wine within as red as the shade painted upon her lips. "Do forgive the mess, dear. It has been a turbulent few days," she purrs, self-assured even among the chaos, and sinks into the chair behind the desk.

"Close the door behind you, won't you?"

let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

"Totally get it," Flora replies breezily, though her voice rings a touch too brightly in the half-lit room. She turns on her heel, the hem of her dress whispering against the polished floor as she does what she’s told—clicking the door shut behind her with a soft click that sounds, to her ears, far too final. Still, she keeps her chin high as she steps further inside, pretending the prickling unease at her nape is nothing more than a draft.

The chaos of the room hits her next—the torn tapestries, the gutted furniture, the sparkling ruin of once-delicate things. Aqua eyes sweep over it all with a slow, deliberate appreciation, and though her brows arch, it’s the smallest smile that quirks the corner of her mouth as she makes her way toward the desk. "And here I thought the Dusklight had the monopoly on rage-chic decor," she murmurs, glancing at a shredded cushion with feigned sympathy.

Flora sinks delicately into the seat opposite Dahlia, crossing one leg over the other with practiced ease. Spice shifts on her shoulder, tail tightening briefly, and the queen’s fingers rise instinctively to stroke beneath the dragon’s chin—comforting the creature, or herself, it’s hard to say.

The wine glints darkly in the dimness, untouched on her side of the desk. "I hope this isn’t a bad time," she offers after a beat, smile softening into something a little more careful. "I can always come back if it is."

"You would have known if it was a bad time, dear," Dahlia says smoothly, setting the wine glass down before Flora and corking the bottle again before sitting back in her seat with her own drink. There's no banter this time, no remarks about the Dusklight or any further detail on the state of the room; just the Reaper, regarding Flora quietly over the rim of her glass. Drinking deeply from it before setting it down, she picks at a non-existent bit of lint on the sleeve of her blouse with nails as red as her lips.

"I am hoping, based on your letters, that your are about to make this a rather good time. I do have to ask about your change of heart, though, especially given the unfortunate tension between our two families." Raising dark brows and walking her fingers around her wine glass, she lets the silence yawn between them as she waits for Flora's answer.

let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

Flora lifts a brow at the shift in tone, noting the lack of witty return volley with something like surprise—and maybe the faintest hint of disappointment. So they weren’t playing, then. Not this time.

When Flora finally speaks, her voice is soft—low, deliberate. "I took your warning seriously," she says, folding her hands loosely in her lap. There’s no playful edge to her words, no flash of a smile. Only the steady conviction of someone who’s rehearsed this a hundred times in her head. "And I’m not interested in dying again anytime soon. It's…not really a good look for me."

She lets that settle for half a beat. Enough to hopefully ease the tension but not enough to diminish the weight of what comes next. "I’ve been thinking about what you said. About the benefits of being a Friend of the Family. And after everything that’s happened—" Her jaw tenses for the briefest moment, but she smooths it away with a breath. "—it makes sense. Torchline doesn’t have the luxury of pride right now. Neither do I."

Flora’s gaze lifts to meet the Reaper’s, clear and unwavering. "So I’d like to take you up on your offer. Become a Friend, officially." A pause, her fingers brushing the curve of her wine glass but not lifting it. "But I’d like to make it... personal, hence the few drops of your blood." She leans forward, just enough to signal intent—not aggression. "It feels fitting. A queen’s bond, sealed in kind. You’d get all of me in return—my thoughts, my loyalty, my alignment." Her lips curve faintly, sincere. "You’ve said before how important that is. This is me showing you I understand."

Then, slowly, Flora reaches into her wrap and produces a small glass vial, its delicate stopper glinting faintly in the candlelight. She sets it carefully on the desk between them. "I brought this for your blood," she says, her voice even but steady. "Once you give it, I’ll hand it to Spice and she’ll fly it home. Once she's outside.." Flora pauses, drawing in a soft breath. "I’ll be yours. No tricks. No one waiting outside the Tower. No letters in my pocket with instructions. And as Vox can already tell—" her gaze flicks slightly upward, toward whatever unseen corner he might be watching from, "—I haven’t told anyone about this. Not a soul."

"I can only agree with that. You look much better with a flush of life in your cheeks," Dahlia says mildly, tipping her glass ever so slightly with her finger as if tempting it to spill over. She lets it fall flat against the desk once more when Flora speaks, the Reaper tilting her head to - for now, at least - her fellow leader. "You speak for a Torchline that seems to have an awful lot of pride remaining, if your co-ruler's actions have anything to say about it. I must say, I've never seen a region present quite such a divided front. It would be fascinating if I still had the patience for it. Alas, who is to say that whatever you promise, Hadama doesn't instantly revoke?"

Spreading her hands before snatching the wine glass back up, Dahlia takes another drink from the glass. "Once upon a time, I'd have taken you up on your offer so quickly we'd both be seeing purple," she says with a predatory curl to her full lips. "But you must understand the current situation, Flora. It isn't that I don't think you would be useful to us - on the contrary, dear. I just don't think you would be as useful as Ronin was. Or Sunjata, or Hotaru. All parental figures of yours, all blessed and then cured, and all who would be very keen to provide you the same treatment."

Shrugging her shoulders, she gestures to the vial Flora has produced. "Which, given their track record and their stubbornness, wouldn't take long. So you see, I'd be down a few drops of blood with nothing to show for it. Speaking of which, I'm still very curious as to what you'd see it used for, and where exactly it will be travelling should your frostly little companion take it on its way."

let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

Flora takes a breath, letting Dahlia’s words settle like fog around her. Then she exhales slowly, smoothing one hand down the curve of her skirt, the gesture idle and unhurried. "You’re right to be cautious," she says, her voice calm, respectful. "And I wouldn’t ask you to make this decision without weighing the benefits and risks." Flora certainly had.

She lifts her gaze, steady and clear. "Hadama and I have led Torchline together for years, but we don’t always agree. We don’t move as one." Her fingers curl lightly around the edge of the desk. "And he wouldn’t stop me unless you gave him a reason to. If you asked something reckless, or obvious—Torchline striking at another region, say—that would be different. But if you play this like I know you can, it stays between us. My loyalty wouldn’t need to clash with his."

There’s a pause, quiet but not empty, as Flora lets that thought settle between them.

"As for the others—my parents, my family." She smiles faintly, lips curving without teeth. "Yes you've graced them all with your gift but have you really asked anything of them? King's End kept to themselves the way they always do, and if anything it was your threat to mine and Mateo's life that has gotten Ronin to take a backseat rather than being your friend." Flora points out, reaching for her wine. "If your priorities have shifted, then perhaps the way you use your friends will shift too. Going for the biggest and most powerful did not yield the results you wanted, but maybe going for the most integrated will." Flora, after all, was not just a queen, but a queen with connections. A queen who knew far more of the goings on of Caido than Sunjata, Hotaru, or Ronin ever did. "And I'm more than happy to visit to keep you aprised of how things are going."

The queen's fingers brush the vial again, but this time it’s with care, reverence even. "I asked for your blood because if I’m giving you my thoughts—my mind—I want it to mean something. I want there to be weight behind it. Permanence." Her voice lowers just a touch, intimate without being ingratiating. "Spice will take it somewhere safe. That’s all. A keepsake, not a weapon. Just a piece of you... to balance what I’m giving in return."

"I am not cautious by nature," Dahlia admits freely, gesturing around at the wreckage of her office artfully hidden by the single candle flames and the drawn curtains. "That isn't my role in my Family. But I often speak for all of them because of my position, and so caution comes, whether I like it or not." Either way, her point still stands, and with cerulean eyes dancing against the teardrop of fire between them, she does indeed consider things.

"You're quite the smooth talker," she purrs, a softer smile curving across her lips, her head cocking to the side. "But with the amount we know, do you think us blind to the fact that those of you who have been cured of your condition can see it in others? I can hardly make use of your integration and connections when you will be found out instantly. Unless you've some way to mask it, or you plan to communicate only by raven?" Flora doesn't seem the type to shy away from the limelight in that way.

Then it's back to the blood, and Dahlia lets out a velvety laugh, the Reaper shaking her head. "You're a liar, my dear. A good one, don't get me wrong, but a liar nonetheless. Let's add to the terms, yes? If I give you my blood, then whatever it ends up being used for - whatever item, or safe space, or concoction - you are never to go near it. Never to hold that item, never to set foot in that space. That seems fair, no?" She smiles. "A threat is no good if I can't follow through on it." Ergo, she can't very well kill Flora to spite Ronin if she's sequestered away.

"Of course, there's no guarantee you'll hold up that end of the bargain even as a Friend of ours. So if you don't, I suppose we'd have to take it out on one of your many connections. That's the downside of having so many, I imagine - you can't really keep them all safe all the time."

let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

For a moment, Flora is quiet, letting Dahlia's laughter and threats wash over her like seawater across sun-warmed stone. Then she tilts her head, lashes lowering briefly as she strokes the stem of her wine glass. "That sounds more like your problem than mine," she says, gently—almost sweetly. "If the Family doesn't have a way to keep people from recognizing their own, maybe that’s something worth fixing. After all, you're all very powerful, aren't you?" A shrug rolls off her shoulders with an elegance that belies the tension humming in her spine.

But it's the next part that has her stilling. Flora’s fingers pause on the glass, her gaze sharpening slightly, thoughtfully, as she regards the Reaper across the candlelit desk. "Mmm, no guarantee," she echoes softly, almost to herself, before her smile returns—smaller, cooler, but no less present. "If you could go around killing anyone you wanted to, I imagine you would’ve done it already." Her voice is calm, careful, but there’s a quiet steel underneath it. "But you haven’t. You didn’t kill Sunjata, or Hotaru. You infected them. Quietly. Easily. You didn’t kill Ronin either, and not because you couldn’t—you threatened him instead. And then you let him go home." Pausing, her head tilts to the side. "Jack and I admittedly you caught, but those around me as you might have noticed tend not to stay dead for very long."

Her eyes meet Dahlia’s across the flickering candlelight, sea-bright and steady. "So maybe you’re not as invincible as you want people to believe. Maybe you’re strong—but not stronger than all of Caido put together. Which means you have to be strategic, too. You have to choose where to place your pieces."

Flora reaches out and lifts the vial between her fingers, holding it delicately, almost reverently. "This might be your last chance to put someone useful on the board. Someone close to every other leader in Caido. Someone you could actually do something with." Because as Vox had no doubt surmised for the Reaper, the big hitters of Caido were getting ready.

She meets Dahlia’s eyes and raises the vial ever so slightly.

"That said, I agree to your terms. Do we have a deal?"

Dahlia's eyebrows raise at that, and she sits up a fraction in her seat, her blue eyes seeming like sudden, molten fire across the desk. "Kitten's got teeth," she purrs. "Quite right, though, I ought to think. I'll see what we can do to prevent that little snag from cropping up too badly from now on," she says sweetly. "...Or I won't, and you'll be found out and cured, and I'll kill everyone you love. Not as part of the Family's plans, either. Just for fun." And now it's her turn to sound demure and sweet.

"And my little love, of course we're as invincible as we seem. You're about to find that out, providing our deal goes well. When you conquer a new place it's best not to go in with a firm hand, you know. It's why we've been so accommodating so far. Warnings, regrets, soft steps. Rest assured, though - you are not the only ones growing tired of the game." She shrugs, reaching out to finish the rest of her wine.

And promptly smashes the glass against the side of the desk, so she can select a large, jagged shard with which to prick her finger. "You've got a high opinion of yourself for someone who, by all rights, should be long dead by now," she remarks, watching the blood bubble to the surface. "That's how useful we thought you were, Flora. It's also why we didn't do anything with Ronin other than ask him to go home - he was much better suited to doing nothing, including bringing you all back to life."

Offering out her finger for the vial, she raises her chin in a brief nod. "We have a deal."

let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

Flora doesn’t rise to the bait.

No smile, no retort. No sharp-edged flirtation or clever volley. Just a soft nod, as if all of Dahlia’s words—her casual cruelty, her thinly veiled threats, her bloodstained pride—are waves washing over rock. Flora has already made her choice. Whatever the Reaper thinks of her, however expendable or underestimated, that will be her weapon, not her downfall.

She simply turns, her fingers brushing lightly against Spice’s flank. The dragonling hops forward onto the desk, pale tail flicking once as she delicately offers up a claw. There’s no hesitation, not even the faintest tremor as the creature leans in, letting Dahlia draw the blood.

As it wells, Flora is quick and precise—tilting the vial just so, catching each crimson drop before it can trail or spill. Her fingers are steady, her gaze fixed. Once the vial is full, she plugs it with the stopper, twisting it shut with reverence. Then, lowering it to Spice’s waiting claws, she nods once.

With a soft, breathy chirr, the dragonling turns. She slips from the desk to the floor with the grace of falling snow, weaving toward the door. A pale shadow in the dim light, she opens the door with practiced ease and disappears into the tower’s long, silent halls.

Only then does Flora move again.

She lifts her wine glass, its contents catching the flicker of candlelight like spilled rubies, and takes a long, slow sip. When she lowers it, her smile has returned—measured, composed, and painted in glassy ease. "Now," she says, her voice light as it cuts through the air. "Your turn."

Slouching back, her bloody finger to her lips, Dahlia seems much like any bully who hasn't gotten the rise she'd hoped for, growing quickly bored at the lack of a response. Watching Spice with curiosity as the frosty little dragon weaves across the floor and out of the door, she reaches out to play with another shard on the table from the shattered wine glass, smiling quietly to herself. "Here's hoping your dragon doesn't run into anyone on the way out," she says, sounding genuinely hopeful for Spice's safe travels.

Humming a soft sound and glancing up to Flora as she speaks, it's a long moment before the Reaper replies, as if she's considering, during those weighty seconds, whether she might simply kill Flora anyway. Up here where no one knows she's come to visit, it would be a long twenty four hours and then some for her family to fight their way to her body to bring it back. Still, perhaps something the Doubletake has said has struck a chord, because in a much more strategic decision, she rises to her feet.

"Lovely," she chimes, stepping around the desk to Flora's chair, pale fingers whispering through the golden curls that have escaped her braid. "Here's to some good business, Flora," she says, before reaching out to tilt up her chin and deliver a kiss against her lips.

---

Magic: Sinner's Kiss | Any recipient of a kiss on the mouth from Dahlia is rendered Infected. Infected characters/creatures are very receptive to suggestions and directions from The Family, and are eager to please them. This effect grows stronger with proximity to members of The Family.
Type: Dark | Rank: Mastered 

Flora receives:

Magic: Friend of the Family | Character has been Infected by a member of The Family. Character is very receptive to suggestions and directions from The Family, and are eager to please them. This effect grows stronger with proximity to members of The Family.
Type: Dark | Rank: Mastered

let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

Be swift, Flora thinks to her companion, feeling down the length of the bond but already Spice is too far away. The Doubletake barely has time to rise from her chair before Dahlia is in front of her, moving like smoke—like inevitability. The queen blinks, the briefest flicker of tension tightening in her spine as pale fingers slip through her curls, cool and deliberate, and her breath catches.

Then Dahlia’s hand is on her chin, tilting her face upward. And there’s no time to flinch or question or prepare. The kiss comes soft, velvet-smooth and unexpected. For a single, suspended heartbeat, it feels like nothing at all.

Then it hits her.

Fizzy, electric, like violet syrup on the tongue—something sweet and heady, something bubbling just beneath her skin. It pulses through her, warm and dizzying, a ripple of sensation that feels too good to be right. Her lashes flutter, lips parting instinctively as if drawn by something deeper, older, than reason. For a breath, for a moment, it is everything; intoxicating and quiet and wrong in a way that feels too beautiful to resist.

And beneath it all, the slow slide of something else. A coil wrapping inward. A softness laced with thorns. The infection, curling in beneath her skin, unnoticed—because that’s the trick of it, isn’t it? All poisons taste like honey at first.

When Dahlia finally draws away, Flora blinks slowly, then exhales, steady and measured.

"To good business," she echoes, smiling.

Drawing back, satisfied at the sweet ease and compliance in Flora's expression (Authority, says the narrator of BG3), Dahlia straightens up and offers her a smile that, finally, seems genuinely pleased. "And to a long-term arrangement, I hope. You'll stay here with us in The Tower for a few days, I hope? There is much to share with you, and even more I'd like to pick your brain about and plan. You might even run into a few more Friends here and there. It would be nice for you to know each other, to develop a working relationship - perhaps more."

Bouncing her eyebrows and stepping back, Dahlia is about to head for the door - clearly expectant for Flora to follow - when she remembers the mess of glass on the desk. "Oh, how clumsy I am." She sighs. "You wouldn't mind cleaning that up would you? I daresay you won't even need a cloth. Delicate little hands like yours should be able to just pick it all up, don't you think?"

let me put my lips to something
let me wrap my teeth around the world

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!