flora
Flora stands outside the Dusklight, blinking against the overly cheerful sunlight as it filters through the early-morning haze. Gods, mornings after whiskey-and-gossip nights with Danta always leave her head feeling vaguely like cotton candy—fluffy, fragile, and liable to dissolve at any second.
With a playful sigh (more exasperation than real regret), Flora smooths her hair back—because, of course, she'd fallen asleep without braiding it—and gathers it loosely over one shoulder, curls still tousled from sleep. She glances over her shoulder as the Maverick emerges behind her, lips quirking into a fond, sleepy smirk. "Gods, remind me to never let you pour again," she teases warmly, stepping forward to tuck herself against his side in a lazy hug. She doesn't mean it of course, and at 22 the queen is more than capable of drinking her way through a bottle and dancing until the wee hours of the morning.
With a playful sigh (more exasperation than real regret), Flora smooths her hair back—because, of course, she'd fallen asleep without braiding it—and gathers it loosely over one shoulder, curls still tousled from sleep. She glances over her shoulder as the Maverick emerges behind her, lips quirking into a fond, sleepy smirk. "Gods, remind me to never let you pour again," she teases warmly, stepping forward to tuck herself against his side in a lazy hug. She doesn't mean it of course, and at 22 the queen is more than capable of drinking her way through a bottle and dancing until the wee hours of the morning.
I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights
I wanna kill the lights
