flora
The streets of Torchline are still alive with LongNight revelry, the air thick with music and laughter, but Flora barely hears it as she makes her way home, letting The Ark and its party fade behind her.
Flora sniffs, dashing the back of her hand against her cheek as she trudges up the familiar path to her house, her heels crunching against the sandy walkway. How the fuck had Jack not realized what she'd think upon seeing a white sparkly lace dress just hanging in his closet. How had he not known what she’d think the second she laid eyes on it? Maybe that’s why he’d been so quick to shut it down. A mistake, a misstep—an accident that needed correcting before she got the wrong idea. And the fact that he'd done nothing when he felt her break over it? That's what stung the most, given that Jack could read her fair more easily than any book, who could sift through the sandstorm of her emotions as easily as breathing. He'd felt the way his casual offer of changing the colour had skewered through her and had said nothing. Had done nothing.
By the time she reaches her door, Flora is sniffling in earnest, her chest tight, throat burning with the effort of swallowing down the mess of feelings swirling in her gut. It’s fine, she tells herself, but the way her breath hitches as she fumbles for the key suggests otherwise. Holding her breath, she nudges the door open, stepping inside with a mixture of dread and fragile hope. Her eyes flicker immediately to the shoes by the door, scanning for more than one pair, her stomach twisting at the thought of seeing a pile of them.
The last thing she needs right now is to walk into a goddamn orgy.
Or, you know, maybe that's exactly what she needs.
Flora sniffs, dashing the back of her hand against her cheek as she trudges up the familiar path to her house, her heels crunching against the sandy walkway. How the fuck had Jack not realized what she'd think upon seeing a white sparkly lace dress just hanging in his closet. How had he not known what she’d think the second she laid eyes on it? Maybe that’s why he’d been so quick to shut it down. A mistake, a misstep—an accident that needed correcting before she got the wrong idea. And the fact that he'd done nothing when he felt her break over it? That's what stung the most, given that Jack could read her fair more easily than any book, who could sift through the sandstorm of her emotions as easily as breathing. He'd felt the way his casual offer of changing the colour had skewered through her and had said nothing. Had done nothing.
By the time she reaches her door, Flora is sniffling in earnest, her chest tight, throat burning with the effort of swallowing down the mess of feelings swirling in her gut. It’s fine, she tells herself, but the way her breath hitches as she fumbles for the key suggests otherwise. Holding her breath, she nudges the door open, stepping inside with a mixture of dread and fragile hope. Her eyes flicker immediately to the shoes by the door, scanning for more than one pair, her stomach twisting at the thought of seeing a pile of them.
The last thing she needs right now is to walk into a goddamn orgy.
Or, you know, maybe that's exactly what she needs.
Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness
'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea
'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea
