flora
Flora isn’t sure what she’s supposed to feel.
She’s washed, at least. The warm water had done little to clear the fog of exhaustion, but she’d gone through the motions anyway, scrubbing at her skin until it felt like something had been rinsed away—grief, guilt, confusion, maybe all of the above. But she hadn’t bothered to dry her hair properly, hadn’t reached for the usual kohl and gloss, hadn’t done anything more than climb back into bed, pulling the blanket up to her chest like it might hold her together.
She should be angry with Jack still. Maybe she still is, but the emotion is muddled beneath layers of heavier, sharper things. Jack was an ass—and given that he was always an ass, really, what was she even upset at him for?—but right now, Flora doesn’t have the energy to care. Her sister is dead. The sister she barely knew, the one who belonged to Safrin and Ronin in a way Flora never would. And yet, it still aches, settling in the hollow of her ribs like something jagged and raw, and she can't help but wonder if her sister died the same way that she had.
When the knock comes at the door, the queen doesn't move at first. She hears it, but it's only after a beat that she shifts, turning her face just slightly toward the sound. She should get up, but it isn't like the door is locked, so...Flora exhales, curling all the more tightly beneath her blankets. "Come in," she murmurs, knowing Mateo would have already given him a talking to, knowing that even if she said nothing at all, he’d feel her waiting.
She’s washed, at least. The warm water had done little to clear the fog of exhaustion, but she’d gone through the motions anyway, scrubbing at her skin until it felt like something had been rinsed away—grief, guilt, confusion, maybe all of the above. But she hadn’t bothered to dry her hair properly, hadn’t reached for the usual kohl and gloss, hadn’t done anything more than climb back into bed, pulling the blanket up to her chest like it might hold her together.
She should be angry with Jack still. Maybe she still is, but the emotion is muddled beneath layers of heavier, sharper things. Jack was an ass—and given that he was always an ass, really, what was she even upset at him for?—but right now, Flora doesn’t have the energy to care. Her sister is dead. The sister she barely knew, the one who belonged to Safrin and Ronin in a way Flora never would. And yet, it still aches, settling in the hollow of her ribs like something jagged and raw, and she can't help but wonder if her sister died the same way that she had.
When the knock comes at the door, the queen doesn't move at first. She hears it, but it's only after a beat that she shifts, turning her face just slightly toward the sound. She should get up, but it isn't like the door is locked, so...Flora exhales, curling all the more tightly beneath her blankets. "Come in," she murmurs, knowing Mateo would have already given him a talking to, knowing that even if she said nothing at all, he’d feel her waiting.
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?
