flora
Flora stands rooted to the deck as Jack’s words strike her like stones, each one bruising deeper than she thought possible after everything they’ve already hurled at each other. She'd taken a risk, the outcome of which apparently didn't matter to Jack, given the stakes. Her shoulders tense with the weight of accusations that land too heavily, too accurately. I was trying to protect you, her thoughts whisper helplessly, though she doesn’t give it voice—because what good is that truth now, frayed and threadbare between them?
The finality in Jack’s tone makes something inside Flora splinter sharply, a delicate fracture spider-webbing out through her consciousness, through memories of tangled limbs in linen sheets, whispered promises under the hush of starlit skies, the way Jack had always known how to touch her—not just her body, but the very core of her, bright and sharp and vulnerable.
She watches silently as he knots the rope, feeling utterly stranded now in more ways than one, the ocean vast and empty around her like an echo of how painfully alone she feels. His advice, delivered in the same cool, practical tone he'd use with any other sailor, twists like a knife in her gut, and as he tugs on the rope and signals his crew, Flora finally moves, turning away abruptly so he won’t see the sheen of tears that threaten at the corners of her eyes. "Yeah," she says, voice softer now, stripped of its earlier defiance and spite, "I'll manage."
She sinks down onto the rail, staring unseeing at the waves, feeling the warmth of the sun return as the shadow of the Ark finally moves away. Yet the sunlight now feels like a cruel joke, illuminating a world that's suddenly too empty and too vast. And Jack will feel it clearly—the way Flora's mental landscape floods quietly with resignation, grief, and a heavy certainty that they've both lost something neither will ever admit was precious until far too late.
~FIN
The finality in Jack’s tone makes something inside Flora splinter sharply, a delicate fracture spider-webbing out through her consciousness, through memories of tangled limbs in linen sheets, whispered promises under the hush of starlit skies, the way Jack had always known how to touch her—not just her body, but the very core of her, bright and sharp and vulnerable.
She watches silently as he knots the rope, feeling utterly stranded now in more ways than one, the ocean vast and empty around her like an echo of how painfully alone she feels. His advice, delivered in the same cool, practical tone he'd use with any other sailor, twists like a knife in her gut, and as he tugs on the rope and signals his crew, Flora finally moves, turning away abruptly so he won’t see the sheen of tears that threaten at the corners of her eyes. "Yeah," she says, voice softer now, stripped of its earlier defiance and spite, "I'll manage."
She sinks down onto the rail, staring unseeing at the waves, feeling the warmth of the sun return as the shadow of the Ark finally moves away. Yet the sunlight now feels like a cruel joke, illuminating a world that's suddenly too empty and too vast. And Jack will feel it clearly—the way Flora's mental landscape floods quietly with resignation, grief, and a heavy certainty that they've both lost something neither will ever admit was precious until far too late.
~FIN
The rumors are terrible and cruel
But honey, most of them are true
But honey, most of them are true
