lay your soul onto mine
The thud of Flora’s boot against the frost-dusted ground is muffled, more rhythm than sound, her stance steady as her fingers twitch—and another feathered dagger whistles through the cold air. It cuts cleanly across the training yard, glinting in a narrow arc before disappearing through the center of a straw dummy’s painted-on chest. Her palm flicks upward just as it lands, a pulse of practiced magic tugging the blade back into her waiting hand with a soft snick, like a magnet snapping into place.
"Not bad," she mutters under her breath, brow furrowed. The next throw is faster. A snap of the wrist, a gleam of gold. This time, she tries to recall it mid-trajectory, aiming for a second target to the left. The dagger jolts midair—wobbles, off course—before slicing into the hay shoulder instead of the center mass. Flora exhales, frustrated, the breath clouding briefly in the crisp Flowerbirth air.
She’s halfway through summoning it back when something shifts at the edge of her senses. Not a sound, not a movement—just that subtle, unmistakable flicker of being watched. Her dagger returns to her hand with a slap against her palm as she pivots, curls bouncing as she whirls around. Aqua eyes land sharply on the bundled figure standing at the edge of the ring, all scarf and jacket and tucked hands. For a heartbeat, Flora blinks, caught off guard.
"Sorry," she calls across the yard, lowering her hand. "Didn’t mean to hog the space."
"Not bad," she mutters under her breath, brow furrowed. The next throw is faster. A snap of the wrist, a gleam of gold. This time, she tries to recall it mid-trajectory, aiming for a second target to the left. The dagger jolts midair—wobbles, off course—before slicing into the hay shoulder instead of the center mass. Flora exhales, frustrated, the breath clouding briefly in the crisp Flowerbirth air.
She’s halfway through summoning it back when something shifts at the edge of her senses. Not a sound, not a movement—just that subtle, unmistakable flicker of being watched. Her dagger returns to her hand with a slap against her palm as she pivots, curls bouncing as she whirls around. Aqua eyes land sharply on the bundled figure standing at the edge of the ring, all scarf and jacket and tucked hands. For a heartbeat, Flora blinks, caught off guard.
"Sorry," she calls across the yard, lowering her hand. "Didn’t mean to hog the space."
