this is why we can't have nice things, honey
Flora is absolutely delighted by the perfume, with her eyes lighting up as she turns the glass bottle over in her hands, watching the soft sea-glass hues catch the light. It’s rare that she’s truly caught off guard by a gift, and yet this—this is unexpected in the best way.
"Hadama, this is gorgeous," she breathes, a touch more sincerity slipping into her voice as she lifts the bottle to examine it closer. Her fingers ghost over the smooth glass, the colour so perfectly matched to her own eyes that she wonders if it had been intentional. "And Hak Etme flowers? You really do know how to spoil a girl." She flashes him a grin, though there’s a warmth in her gaze that lingers as she pops the stopper, bringing it to her nose to inhale the scent.
The fragrance is something unique—delicate but rich, a blend of floral and something sun-warmed, with a whisper of salt air that reminds her of the ocean at dusk. It smells like freedom, like fleeting beauty, like something rare and impossible to capture.
A slow, pleased smile spreads across her lips as she dabs a bit onto her wrist before turning back to him. "Okay, you win," she concedes, waving a hand as if to say congrats on besting me in the art of gift-giving. "This is better than tattoos." A beat, then her smirk tilts back toward mischief. "But only because the night is still young." And if the Tidebreaker things he'd going to walk out of her kitchen without wearing at least a little of the icing that they're about to make, he's sorely mistaken.
"Hadama, this is gorgeous," she breathes, a touch more sincerity slipping into her voice as she lifts the bottle to examine it closer. Her fingers ghost over the smooth glass, the colour so perfectly matched to her own eyes that she wonders if it had been intentional. "And Hak Etme flowers? You really do know how to spoil a girl." She flashes him a grin, though there’s a warmth in her gaze that lingers as she pops the stopper, bringing it to her nose to inhale the scent.
The fragrance is something unique—delicate but rich, a blend of floral and something sun-warmed, with a whisper of salt air that reminds her of the ocean at dusk. It smells like freedom, like fleeting beauty, like something rare and impossible to capture.
A slow, pleased smile spreads across her lips as she dabs a bit onto her wrist before turning back to him. "Okay, you win," she concedes, waving a hand as if to say congrats on besting me in the art of gift-giving. "This is better than tattoos." A beat, then her smirk tilts back toward mischief. "But only because the night is still young." And if the Tidebreaker things he'd going to walk out of her kitchen without wearing at least a little of the icing that they're about to make, he's sorely mistaken.
