flora
Flora sits on the soft, mossy banks of the Stone Symphony, bare feet dangling into the cool, gently rushing current as she peers down thoughtfully into the glowing depths of the Sunken Gardens. The lush bioluminescence below shimmers gently, throwing soft reflections across her thoughtful expression—an expression that shifts restlessly between concern and curiosity. She tries not to dwell on Sohalia’s letter (except she's definitely dwelling), wondering what exactly constitutes "not bad but also maybe a mistake."
It's probably something to do with Koa.
A light, floral-print shawl drapes loosely around her shoulders against the faint chill of Flowerbirth, its pastel hues mirroring the delicate blossoms starting to wake along the riverbank. Her curls, free today and tousled by the breeze, frame her face, catching the golden sunlight filtering through the forest canopy. Beside her sits a half-chilled bottle of white wine—because this conversation absolutely demands wine—and two glasses glint invitingly in the gentle light.
She exhales slowly, fingers drumming nervously against her thigh. Her jewelry softly clinks with the movement, the sound blending with the distant symphony of trickling water and rustling leaves. "Come on, Soh," Flora murmurs softly to herself, partly worried, partly impatient, and completely ready to dive headfirst into whatever fresh drama awaits.
It's probably something to do with Koa.
A light, floral-print shawl drapes loosely around her shoulders against the faint chill of Flowerbirth, its pastel hues mirroring the delicate blossoms starting to wake along the riverbank. Her curls, free today and tousled by the breeze, frame her face, catching the golden sunlight filtering through the forest canopy. Beside her sits a half-chilled bottle of white wine—because this conversation absolutely demands wine—and two glasses glint invitingly in the gentle light.
She exhales slowly, fingers drumming nervously against her thigh. Her jewelry softly clinks with the movement, the sound blending with the distant symphony of trickling water and rustling leaves. "Come on, Soh," Flora murmurs softly to herself, partly worried, partly impatient, and completely ready to dive headfirst into whatever fresh drama awaits.
what doesn't kill me makes
me want you more
me want you more
