honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time
The dome of the Court of the Stars shimmers with the pale glow of early evening, moonlight filtering faintly through the glass above and casting soft reflections in the pool beneath Safrin’s statue. Night-blooming jasmine coils delicately around white columns, its scent subtle but persistent as the sea breeze slips through the open wall and whispers across the marble.
Flora stands near the fountain with Hadama, her posture poised but taut, golden bangles glinting at her wrists with every subtle shift. Her curls are twisted into a sleek braid draped over one shoulder, her gown a deep navy to match the hour, speckled with tiny mirrored stars that catch the light as she moves. She looks like a vision—regal, composed—but anyone close enough to see the stiffness in her jaw or the tension in her shoulders would know how much effort it takes to wear the mask tonight.
"Almost everyone’s here," she murmurs to Hadama, aqua eyes sweeping the gathering crowd as Torchliners filter into the courtyard: sailors still smelling of salt and sun, bakers in flour-dusted aprons, smiths with soot-streaked arms, merchants with polished boots. All of them summoned to have a voice in a decision that could shape the future of their home.
Once the last murmurs settle and the crowd hushes with anticipation, Flora steps forward. Her voice, when it comes, is clear and steady.
"Thank you all for coming tonight." She lets her gaze drift over the gathered faces, grounding herself in their presence. "I won’t waste time. Torchline’s been lucky so far. The Family hasn’t made a real move on us—yet—but that luck won’t last. You’ve heard the stories, maybe even seen what they’ve done elsewhere. What they are."
She glances at Hadama briefly before continuing. "Thanks to some…creative risk-taking," there’s a flicker of dry humour, though her expression remains serious, "we’ve acquired something powerful. A vial of Dahlia’s blood." She lets the words hang for a moment, watching the ripple they send through the room. "We can use it to keep the Family out. Physically, anyway."
"But," Flora presses on, her voice tightening slightly, "We have to decide where to start." She turns slightly, gesturing to the courtyard behind her. "We can protect the city—where most of you live, where your families sleep, where your businesses are."
Her hand shifts to the open sea, to the breeze curling in from the docks. "Or—we can protect the coast. It’s bigger. It’s riskier. But it’s where our trade comes in, where smugglers and sailors and travellers move through every day. If the Family comes by sea, that’s where they’ll land." They hadn't yet shown that they had the ability to fly, after all.
"We’re not going to make this choice without you. This is your home as much as it’s mine. So…" Flora looks to Hadama then, nodding slightly for him to speak if he wishes, before she turns back to the crowd.
Flora stands near the fountain with Hadama, her posture poised but taut, golden bangles glinting at her wrists with every subtle shift. Her curls are twisted into a sleek braid draped over one shoulder, her gown a deep navy to match the hour, speckled with tiny mirrored stars that catch the light as she moves. She looks like a vision—regal, composed—but anyone close enough to see the stiffness in her jaw or the tension in her shoulders would know how much effort it takes to wear the mask tonight.
"Almost everyone’s here," she murmurs to Hadama, aqua eyes sweeping the gathering crowd as Torchliners filter into the courtyard: sailors still smelling of salt and sun, bakers in flour-dusted aprons, smiths with soot-streaked arms, merchants with polished boots. All of them summoned to have a voice in a decision that could shape the future of their home.
Once the last murmurs settle and the crowd hushes with anticipation, Flora steps forward. Her voice, when it comes, is clear and steady.
"Thank you all for coming tonight." She lets her gaze drift over the gathered faces, grounding herself in their presence. "I won’t waste time. Torchline’s been lucky so far. The Family hasn’t made a real move on us—yet—but that luck won’t last. You’ve heard the stories, maybe even seen what they’ve done elsewhere. What they are."
She glances at Hadama briefly before continuing. "Thanks to some…creative risk-taking," there’s a flicker of dry humour, though her expression remains serious, "we’ve acquired something powerful. A vial of Dahlia’s blood." She lets the words hang for a moment, watching the ripple they send through the room. "We can use it to keep the Family out. Physically, anyway."
"But," Flora presses on, her voice tightening slightly, "We have to decide where to start." She turns slightly, gesturing to the courtyard behind her. "We can protect the city—where most of you live, where your families sleep, where your businesses are."
Her hand shifts to the open sea, to the breeze curling in from the docks. "Or—we can protect the coast. It’s bigger. It’s riskier. But it’s where our trade comes in, where smugglers and sailors and travellers move through every day. If the Family comes by sea, that’s where they’ll land." They hadn't yet shown that they had the ability to fly, after all.
"We’re not going to make this choice without you. This is your home as much as it’s mine. So…" Flora looks to Hadama then, nodding slightly for him to speak if he wishes, before she turns back to the crowd.
