flora
Flora sweeps through the streets toward the Dusklight, her mood hovering somewhere between stormy and petulant—basically the emotional equivalent of the Ground's recent weather. The argument with Jack still gnaws at the edges of her thoughts, souring her expression beneath the hood of her lightweight cloak. She adjusts the soft, pastel-pink fabric irritably, tugging it tighter around herself as if the cool, damp air is a personal affront. Her boot heels click against the damp cobblestones, punctuating her internal monologue of frustration, and her curls bounce wildly despite her attempts at a neat braid. It’s almost sunset, and the sky blushes with soft pinks and purples that Flora, in her current mood, absolutely refuses to appreciate.
With a steadying sigh—one that is half annoyance and half anticipation of unloading all this drama on poor, unsuspecting Danta—Flora pushes open the door and steps into the warm glow of the Dusklight, her expression already settling into a practiced mixture of queenly poise and mildly irritated impatience. "Dantaaaaa?" she calls out, voice honeyed but edged with a telltale note of please come fix my life before I scream.
With a steadying sigh—one that is half annoyance and half anticipation of unloading all this drama on poor, unsuspecting Danta—Flora pushes open the door and steps into the warm glow of the Dusklight, her expression already settling into a practiced mixture of queenly poise and mildly irritated impatience. "Dantaaaaa?" she calls out, voice honeyed but edged with a telltale note of please come fix my life before I scream.
Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price
You know that I bought it
You know that I bought it
