walk me home in the dead of night
"I mean it would seem like it was a setup." Flora says with a sigh, resisting the urge to scrub her palm against the side of her face and instead opting to tug at the end of one of her curls instead. "You did handle it really well, though. Better than...well, than I thought you would." She doesn't know quite how to say it so that it doesn't sound as if she's trying to insult him at the same time, but at the risk of saying too much, of mentioning things that she'd once been told during a confidence that they no longer shared, Flora adds: "Just...because of how bad things were for you."
Following at least a tail's length behind the butcher save for the times that a bush ("—thanks—") or a branch gave her reason to hasten her steps, Flora listened thoughtfully as he explained. "What a bitch." It's all she can think to say, ugly and too broad though it was. Scowling and shaking her head, the queen tried to do her best to keep her thoughts from spiraling selfishly. Thoughts of Maea turned into thoughts of Frey's Breath, of when the pair had found the ancient lurking inside the entrance, of all the things that happened after.
Shaking her head to snap herself out of it—Asta was clearly in no mood or condition to talk about how things had transpired between them much as various ways of segueing into such a conversation might have burned on Flora's lips—the queen glanced up where Spice was flying high over head, trilling down at her every now and again.
Following at least a tail's length behind the butcher save for the times that a bush ("—thanks—") or a branch gave her reason to hasten her steps, Flora listened thoughtfully as he explained. "What a bitch." It's all she can think to say, ugly and too broad though it was. Scowling and shaking her head, the queen tried to do her best to keep her thoughts from spiraling selfishly. Thoughts of Maea turned into thoughts of Frey's Breath, of when the pair had found the ancient lurking inside the entrance, of all the things that happened after.
Shaking her head to snap herself out of it—Asta was clearly in no mood or condition to talk about how things had transpired between them much as various ways of segueing into such a conversation might have burned on Flora's lips—the queen glanced up where Spice was flying high over head, trilling down at her every now and again.
