honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time
"Totally get it," Flora replies breezily, though her voice rings a touch too brightly in the half-lit room. She turns on her heel, the hem of her dress whispering against the polished floor as she does what she’s told—clicking the door shut behind her with a soft click that sounds, to her ears, far too final. Still, she keeps her chin high as she steps further inside, pretending the prickling unease at her nape is nothing more than a draft.
The chaos of the room hits her next—the torn tapestries, the gutted furniture, the sparkling ruin of once-delicate things. Aqua eyes sweep over it all with a slow, deliberate appreciation, and though her brows arch, it’s the smallest smile that quirks the corner of her mouth as she makes her way toward the desk. "And here I thought the Dusklight had the monopoly on rage-chic decor," she murmurs, glancing at a shredded cushion with feigned sympathy.
Flora sinks delicately into the seat opposite Dahlia, crossing one leg over the other with practiced ease. Spice shifts on her shoulder, tail tightening briefly, and the queen’s fingers rise instinctively to stroke beneath the dragon’s chin—comforting the creature, or herself, it’s hard to say.
The wine glints darkly in the dimness, untouched on her side of the desk. "I hope this isn’t a bad time," she offers after a beat, smile softening into something a little more careful. "I can always come back if it is."
The chaos of the room hits her next—the torn tapestries, the gutted furniture, the sparkling ruin of once-delicate things. Aqua eyes sweep over it all with a slow, deliberate appreciation, and though her brows arch, it’s the smallest smile that quirks the corner of her mouth as she makes her way toward the desk. "And here I thought the Dusklight had the monopoly on rage-chic decor," she murmurs, glancing at a shredded cushion with feigned sympathy.
Flora sinks delicately into the seat opposite Dahlia, crossing one leg over the other with practiced ease. Spice shifts on her shoulder, tail tightening briefly, and the queen’s fingers rise instinctively to stroke beneath the dragon’s chin—comforting the creature, or herself, it’s hard to say.
The wine glints darkly in the dimness, untouched on her side of the desk. "I hope this isn’t a bad time," she offers after a beat, smile softening into something a little more careful. "I can always come back if it is."
