you hate the crash, but you love the rush
Flora moves slowly, distractedly through the Greatwood, hardly noticing the vibrant dance of scarlet light filtering down through the magical river overhead. Her usually impeccable appearance has become decidedly frayed at the edges: blonde curls twisted loosely into a braid, strands escaping to frame a face pale and drawn. Her clothes—a soft, moss-coloured sweater pulled hastily over a wrinkled sundress—reflect the kind of careless dressing that speaks volumes about someone whose thoughts lie elsewhere.
Jack had left, and no amount of careful reasoning, pleading, or yelling had changed his mind, and Flora's heart feels like it's been dragged behind his ship and abandoned in open water. She'd been heading toward Niki, seeking comfort or distraction, or simply an escape from the emptiness left in Jack's wake, when a faint rustle draws her attention.
Glancing up, Flora notices a girl perched on a large rock near the river’s crimson glow, a bag at her side as she seems to be preparing for a meal. The queen blinks once, twice, realizing with mild embarrassment that she's stumbled rather obviously into someone else’s moment of solitude.
"Oh—sorry," Flora blurts out softly, voice hoarse as if from disuse or recent tears. She tries a smile, something bright and apologetic that doesn’t quite make it all the way to her eyes. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
Jack had left, and no amount of careful reasoning, pleading, or yelling had changed his mind, and Flora's heart feels like it's been dragged behind his ship and abandoned in open water. She'd been heading toward Niki, seeking comfort or distraction, or simply an escape from the emptiness left in Jack's wake, when a faint rustle draws her attention.
Glancing up, Flora notices a girl perched on a large rock near the river’s crimson glow, a bag at her side as she seems to be preparing for a meal. The queen blinks once, twice, realizing with mild embarrassment that she's stumbled rather obviously into someone else’s moment of solitude.
"Oh—sorry," Flora blurts out softly, voice hoarse as if from disuse or recent tears. She tries a smile, something bright and apologetic that doesn’t quite make it all the way to her eyes. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
