Loathe the way they light candles in Rome
But love the sweet air of the votives
But love the sweet air of the votives
Flora's psst has Koa looking between Vox (or as much as he can look at Vox) and Ever, confusion knitting at his brows. And then realization widens his eyes, which settle on Flora with a small, sharp nod. Somehow she's managed to confirm a suspicion he hadn't quite managed to share before. It's... troubling, but maybe a little relieving. At least now they know infection doesn't make people foam at the mouth or become terribly violent.
It just... creates an odd amount of chill.
Anyway. A conversation for later, which Koa communicates by squeezing Flora's arm in a silent we need to talk. In the meantime there's this assortment of prizes... and the short straw Koa seems to have drawn. The dying breath of a family member?! "H... how?" He looks between Vox (again, as much as is possible) and the jar that he's holding at full extension from his body because someone took the fucking table, both unable to bring it closer to his body and unwilling to throw it away. "My family?"
It just... creates an odd amount of chill.
Anyway. A conversation for later, which Koa communicates by squeezing Flora's arm in a silent we need to talk. In the meantime there's this assortment of prizes... and the short straw Koa seems to have drawn. The dying breath of a family member?! "H... how?" He looks between Vox (again, as much as is possible) and the jar that he's holding at full extension from his body because someone took the fucking table, both unable to bring it closer to his body and unwilling to throw it away. "My family?"
Koa Carpenter
Hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone
Engage with the pain as a motive
Engage with the pain as a motive
