flora
For a long, long while, Flora is entirely unable to tell where she ends and Jack begins. His shivers are hers, the trembling of his breath against her neck a vibration that hums softly along her skin and deep into her bones. The weight of him pressing her into the mattress doesn’t feel suffocating or heavy; it feels grounding, anchoring. There’s no smugness, no triumphant teasing in her thoughts the way Jack had once assumed there would be—just an overwhelming, aching fullness that swells the vast oceans of her mind back to their former glory.
While Hotaru’s magic had left deep, jagged furrows that ripped apart the bright and blooming flower beds Flora had built for herself over the years, now, tangled against Jack, it's as if together the pair had simply taken advantage of the deep grooves Hotaru's magic had left in its wake, using the freshly tilled soil to plant something fresh and strong that would flourish even during Deepfrost.
Air rushes from her lips in a quiet, shaky sigh, and for a second Flora can't recall if she’d been holding her breath or simply hadn't managed to catch it yet. The thought barely forms before it drifts away, carried off by the warm haze that has her limbs boneless, her heart spilling over with something she doesn’t have the strength to name. Slowly she pulls her hand out from between them, placing her palm softly over Jack's back so as not to rouse him abruptly from the stillwater haze she was sure he felt.
For the first time since waking on the houseboat, since feeling her mother’s magic curl around her mind, Flora feels whole again. Not perfect, not untouched, but whole. Despite the compass she knows is in her discarded pants, and despite the offer Jack had made earlier, this, she thinks, this right here is home.
While Hotaru’s magic had left deep, jagged furrows that ripped apart the bright and blooming flower beds Flora had built for herself over the years, now, tangled against Jack, it's as if together the pair had simply taken advantage of the deep grooves Hotaru's magic had left in its wake, using the freshly tilled soil to plant something fresh and strong that would flourish even during Deepfrost.
Air rushes from her lips in a quiet, shaky sigh, and for a second Flora can't recall if she’d been holding her breath or simply hadn't managed to catch it yet. The thought barely forms before it drifts away, carried off by the warm haze that has her limbs boneless, her heart spilling over with something she doesn’t have the strength to name. Slowly she pulls her hand out from between them, placing her palm softly over Jack's back so as not to rouse him abruptly from the stillwater haze she was sure he felt.
For the first time since waking on the houseboat, since feeling her mother’s magic curl around her mind, Flora feels whole again. Not perfect, not untouched, but whole. Despite the compass she knows is in her discarded pants, and despite the offer Jack had made earlier, this, she thinks, this right here is home.
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
