marked me like a bloodstain
Flora tries not to to think how domestic Jack suddenly looks, but of course once the idea has sparked in her thoughts it's impossible for it not to take root. She does him the courtesy of not giving voice to it though, even if she does smirk at him as he rather politely hangs his clothes over a chair.
The bed is large enough that the queen could stretch out an arm without being able to brush against the captain, which she assumes is to his liking. Rolling onto her side and nuzzling her cheek against her pillow, Flora listens to his explanation. "I mean..I guess that's to be expected?" She reasons; they were all creatures of habit, so why shouldn't the melody of their thoughts be similarly patterned?
So why wasn't hers like that? "I bet Mel has some fairly explosive thoughts." She titters.
His question catches her off-guard, and though heated rocks and flickering flames try and realize themselves in her mind, her exhaustion and the rum keeps them more or less at bay. Still, it has her biting at the inside of her lip against the cold prickle of tears. Splaying out her fingers across her sheets, enjoying the static-y smoothing tactile feel of it against her palm, the queen gives her head a little shake. "Because..." Fresh tears spill down her cheeks and onto her lips and nose.
"Because I think it was my fault." She whispers.
Her fault for pushing him. For not being enough for him. For not being stronger.
The bed is large enough that the queen could stretch out an arm without being able to brush against the captain, which she assumes is to his liking. Rolling onto her side and nuzzling her cheek against her pillow, Flora listens to his explanation. "I mean..I guess that's to be expected?" She reasons; they were all creatures of habit, so why shouldn't the melody of their thoughts be similarly patterned?
So why wasn't hers like that? "I bet Mel has some fairly explosive thoughts." She titters.
His question catches her off-guard, and though heated rocks and flickering flames try and realize themselves in her mind, her exhaustion and the rum keeps them more or less at bay. Still, it has her biting at the inside of her lip against the cold prickle of tears. Splaying out her fingers across her sheets, enjoying the static-y smoothing tactile feel of it against her palm, the queen gives her head a little shake. "Because..." Fresh tears spill down her cheeks and onto her lips and nose.
"Because I think it was my fault." She whispers.
Her fault for pushing him. For not being enough for him. For not being stronger.
