flora
Jack’s words grind against something jagged inside her, something raw and unresolved, that has Flora immediately wanting to argue with him if only to do something with everything that she's feeling. But he isn’t wrong, and that’s the worst part. If it hadn’t been Maea, it would have been him, actually, and if it had been Jack, then Remi would have still had his feather. Which would mean—
Flora clenches her teeth, her jaw tightening as she squeezes her eyes shut against the dizzying spiral of cause and effect that twists and knots itself through her mind like a whirlpool. "I’m never bringing anyone to Ronin again if I would trade them for the life of someone in my family," she mutters, her voice thick with conviction and bitterness alike. Because in the end that's what it came down to: every slot Ronin used on someone was a slot he didn't have to save his family.
The bed shifts beneath her as Jack moves, and normally she’d have something to say about it—some quip about how he was making himself comfortable awfully fast after being such a bastard—but tonight, she doesn’t. Maybe she isn't marrying material, but Jack could easily have found a thousand excuses for why he hadn't been able to come and see her before the funeral, but instead he'd come right away. And so, Flora shifts, making space for him without hesitation, lifting the blanket just enough to let him slide in beside her. When he does, she tucks herself against his side, curls spilling over his shoulder, her fingers slipping over the fabric of his shirt as she presses against the warmth of him.
"Did you ever meet her?"
Flora clenches her teeth, her jaw tightening as she squeezes her eyes shut against the dizzying spiral of cause and effect that twists and knots itself through her mind like a whirlpool. "I’m never bringing anyone to Ronin again if I would trade them for the life of someone in my family," she mutters, her voice thick with conviction and bitterness alike. Because in the end that's what it came down to: every slot Ronin used on someone was a slot he didn't have to save his family.
The bed shifts beneath her as Jack moves, and normally she’d have something to say about it—some quip about how he was making himself comfortable awfully fast after being such a bastard—but tonight, she doesn’t. Maybe she isn't marrying material, but Jack could easily have found a thousand excuses for why he hadn't been able to come and see her before the funeral, but instead he'd come right away. And so, Flora shifts, making space for him without hesitation, lifting the blanket just enough to let him slide in beside her. When he does, she tucks herself against his side, curls spilling over his shoulder, her fingers slipping over the fabric of his shirt as she presses against the warmth of him.
"Did you ever meet her?"
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?
