flora
The Brizo’s night-air is cool enough to raise gooseflesh along Flora’s arms as she settles cross-legged on the Sugar Tide’s deck. She has trimmed the stained-glass sails until they hum contentedly, and brought order to a small constellation of comforts between herself and Asta: a battered enamel teapot swirling spicy chair tea steams, a saucepan of hot chocolate laced—perhaps a little recklessly—with dark rum, and two oversized mugs. A spare woollen blanket, violet as a twilight wave, waits in easy reach should the wind freshen.
"I hope chai's all right," she murmurs while pouring, moonlight silvering the dark liquid. "And the chocolate may be… enthusiastic. Consider yourself warned."
For a minute she lets the hush of the water speak, the Sugar Tide’s bow cutting a quiet V through Brizo’s gentle swell. Lightning flickers far to starboard, contained and politely distant for once. Flora inhales the mingled scents of chai, spice, and salt, easing tension from her spine before beginning the confession that has been knotting her tongue all evening. "Thanks for coming out here with me," she begins, voice pitched low in the dark. "Safri said I needed to sail under the moon, but doing it alone felt…" She shrugs, curls brushing her shoulders.
She steals a sip of chocolate, braces her elbows on her knees, and stares into the rippling path of moonlight ahead. Words spill, soft but steady: how Jack walked away from her saying he needed 'a lot of space and time', and how the silence that followed proved louder than any argument, how their last meeting ended with accusations and a rope tossed back aboard the Ark.
"I keep reminding myself I did what I had to for Torchline," she admits, thumb circling the rim of her mug. "But knowing doesn't stop how shitty it all feels, you know?" A faint smile tugs at one corner of her mouth, half resignation, half gratitude.
"I hope chai's all right," she murmurs while pouring, moonlight silvering the dark liquid. "And the chocolate may be… enthusiastic. Consider yourself warned."
For a minute she lets the hush of the water speak, the Sugar Tide’s bow cutting a quiet V through Brizo’s gentle swell. Lightning flickers far to starboard, contained and politely distant for once. Flora inhales the mingled scents of chai, spice, and salt, easing tension from her spine before beginning the confession that has been knotting her tongue all evening. "Thanks for coming out here with me," she begins, voice pitched low in the dark. "Safri said I needed to sail under the moon, but doing it alone felt…" She shrugs, curls brushing her shoulders.
She steals a sip of chocolate, braces her elbows on her knees, and stares into the rippling path of moonlight ahead. Words spill, soft but steady: how Jack walked away from her saying he needed 'a lot of space and time', and how the silence that followed proved louder than any argument, how their last meeting ended with accusations and a rope tossed back aboard the Ark.
"I keep reminding myself I did what I had to for Torchline," she admits, thumb circling the rim of her mug. "But knowing doesn't stop how shitty it all feels, you know?" A faint smile tugs at one corner of her mouth, half resignation, half gratitude.
what doesn't kill me makes
me want you more
me want you more
