flora
Flora hadn’t thought it was possible to feel any worse than she already did, what with things being rocky with Jack, the murder of her sister, and her disastrous meeting with Hadama, Sunjata, and Deimos. And yet, sitting here, curled at the base of this tree with Koa standing there looking at her like that, his voice rough and uncertain in a way that makes something inside her twist—yeah. She feels worse. So much fucking worse.
Because she shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t feel the sudden, overwhelming ache of nostalgia, the wave of longing that crashes over her so violently it nearly pulls her under. She was the one who'd picked someone else, the one who’d turned away when he’d told her he loved her. So what right did she have to even an ounce of upset or regret? What right to want a hug or a smile, to curl up in the warmth of familiarity and expect something that no longer belonged to her?
Flora's fingers tighten against the fabric of her skirt as she forces herself to take a steady breath, blinking rapidly as she drags her palms over her cheeks again to remove her tears, though she makes no effort to get up. Instead, she huffs a quiet, bitter laugh, tipping her head back against the rough bark of the tree as she glances up at the dragoon, exhausted and resigned. "Not unless you know how to cure an infected family member," she murmurs, voice wry, but not quite sharp. "Because if you do, I’d love to hear it."
Because she shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t feel the sudden, overwhelming ache of nostalgia, the wave of longing that crashes over her so violently it nearly pulls her under. She was the one who'd picked someone else, the one who’d turned away when he’d told her he loved her. So what right did she have to even an ounce of upset or regret? What right to want a hug or a smile, to curl up in the warmth of familiarity and expect something that no longer belonged to her?
Flora's fingers tighten against the fabric of her skirt as she forces herself to take a steady breath, blinking rapidly as she drags her palms over her cheeks again to remove her tears, though she makes no effort to get up. Instead, she huffs a quiet, bitter laugh, tipping her head back against the rough bark of the tree as she glances up at the dragoon, exhausted and resigned. "Not unless you know how to cure an infected family member," she murmurs, voice wry, but not quite sharp. "Because if you do, I’d love to hear it."
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?
