KOA
And just like that, it's done.
He's played his card. He's told her he loves her. And still, it isn't enough. Like a slashed balloon Koa deflates, all the brimming hope and fear and coursing energy and need and love draining away to leave behind a hollow, empty pain. The thing that Flora clings to is no longer a man; he is a statue of coldest marble and hottest steel, a foreign body removed from the world. Dimly he's aware of her arm around him, of the red in her face and her hiccupped breath. Flora's travels as through through water, muffled and distant and terribly cold.
You were perfect--
"But someone else was better."
It all slots into place then, a picture of what has happened suddenly, viciously clear. It's the same fucking story, the same slap in the face. 'That's all it is,' she'd promised him. 'Just one of those things.' He can feel the simmering hurt and rage, the shame and fury coiling at his core. At some point Koa has dropped his hands, the sunflowers now dangling stupidly by his side. He isn't looking down at Flora, can't look at her, his copper eyes glinting with hurt and tears that are certain to spill out should he see her face.
He wonders absently whether his teeth will shatter, should he tighten his jaw any more.
He was an idiot to think this could have ended differently, Koa knows that now. She's a Queen and he is nothing, not even worth the mud on her boots. "Please leave, Flora." It's spoken with a terrible, chilling calm, as gently as if he were asking her to pass a cup of tea. But underneath something dangerous sits, the ghostly strains of a threat (a plea?) thrumming beneath a placid façade.
He's played his card. He's told her he loves her. And still, it isn't enough. Like a slashed balloon Koa deflates, all the brimming hope and fear and coursing energy and need and love draining away to leave behind a hollow, empty pain. The thing that Flora clings to is no longer a man; he is a statue of coldest marble and hottest steel, a foreign body removed from the world. Dimly he's aware of her arm around him, of the red in her face and her hiccupped breath. Flora's travels as through through water, muffled and distant and terribly cold.
You were perfect--
"But someone else was better."
It all slots into place then, a picture of what has happened suddenly, viciously clear. It's the same fucking story, the same slap in the face. 'That's all it is,' she'd promised him. 'Just one of those things.' He can feel the simmering hurt and rage, the shame and fury coiling at his core. At some point Koa has dropped his hands, the sunflowers now dangling stupidly by his side. He isn't looking down at Flora, can't look at her, his copper eyes glinting with hurt and tears that are certain to spill out should he see her face.
He wonders absently whether his teeth will shatter, should he tighten his jaw any more.
He was an idiot to think this could have ended differently, Koa knows that now. She's a Queen and he is nothing, not even worth the mud on her boots. "Please leave, Flora." It's spoken with a terrible, chilling calm, as gently as if he were asking her to pass a cup of tea. But underneath something dangerous sits, the ghostly strains of a threat (a plea?) thrumming beneath a placid façade.
With each love I cut loose, I was never the same
Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame
Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame
