never be so kind you forget to be clever
Flowerbirth is in full swing, and the water is a mosaic of colour—reflected sails, floating blossoms, and the shimmering sway of fish beneath the surface. But Flora’s steps are slower today, her braid heavy over one shoulder and her mind somewhere else entirely.
The Northaven comes into view, bobbing gently at its mooring, and Flora climbs aboard without ceremony. She raps her knuckles against the door (new, she notices) once—twice—and calls out, voice raised just enough to carry. "Helloooooo."
She waits, fingers twisting one of her rings absently as she looks out over the water. There's something soft and nostalgic in her gaze, like she's already picturing herself out here someday—her own boat, her own peace. But the why of it still tugs at her chest, heavier than she'd like.
The Northaven comes into view, bobbing gently at its mooring, and Flora climbs aboard without ceremony. She raps her knuckles against the door (new, she notices) once—twice—and calls out, voice raised just enough to carry. "Helloooooo."
She waits, fingers twisting one of her rings absently as she looks out over the water. There's something soft and nostalgic in her gaze, like she's already picturing herself out here someday—her own boat, her own peace. But the why of it still tugs at her chest, heavier than she'd like.
