you hate the crash, but you love the rush
Flora paced restlessly beneath the tangled branches of the Wildwood, the pale sunlight of Flowerbirth filtering through the dense canopy in fragmented beams of gold. Her footsteps wore a nervous pattern in the damp earth, skirts whispering gently around her legs as she moved. Usually so carefully composed, today the queen's appearance was markedly different—her spring-green dress was rumpled, golden curls slightly wild, and her jewelry haphazardly chosen, reflecting the chaos swirling in her thoughts.
She glanced toward the shadows between the trees for the hundredth time, frustration and anxiety knitting her brow as she tugged restlessly at a curl. "Come on, Soh," she murmured urgently beneath her breath, reaching out to gently brush her fingers against the rough bark of a nearby tree. "Can't you help her get here just a little faster?" she whispered imploringly as if the Greatwood might listen, as if it might care enough to aid her.
With a heavy sigh, Flora turned sharply on her heel to continue pacing, fingers twisting restlessly together as she waited, each heartbeat filled with quiet desperation for her friend's arrival.
She glanced toward the shadows between the trees for the hundredth time, frustration and anxiety knitting her brow as she tugged restlessly at a curl. "Come on, Soh," she murmured urgently beneath her breath, reaching out to gently brush her fingers against the rough bark of a nearby tree. "Can't you help her get here just a little faster?" she whispered imploringly as if the Greatwood might listen, as if it might care enough to aid her.
With a heavy sigh, Flora turned sharply on her heel to continue pacing, fingers twisting restlessly together as she waited, each heartbeat filled with quiet desperation for her friend's arrival.
