flora
Flora lets the steam from her chai curl beneath her nose, inhaling cardamom and cinnamon until the ache caught behind her ribs eases by a breath or two. She drinks, the sweet heat of chocolate and whiskey pooling in her chest before she speaks again, softer now against the hush of the waves. "Strong feels like a costume I borrowed and forgot to give back." Her thumb circles the rim of the mug. Moon-silver flickers across the stained-glass sails, scattering broken blues and reds over her shoulders; the effect is more cathedral than skyship, and for a moment she allows herself to revel in the quiet.
"And as if that isn't enough to deal with," she adds with a dry laugh, "my ex-boyfriend and my best friend are going to start dating." Just thinking of their names together still tastes strange, bittersweet as half-melted sugar on her tongue. "They deserve every bit of happiness, and gods, I want to be happy for them. But some small, ugly part of me fucking hates it." For anyone who didn't know the butcher, they might think him disinclined to hear of Flora's woes, but it wasn't just because of their friendship she felt comfortable sharing, but because of what a lover of gossip he secretly was.
"And as if that isn't enough to deal with," she adds with a dry laugh, "my ex-boyfriend and my best friend are going to start dating." Just thinking of their names together still tastes strange, bittersweet as half-melted sugar on her tongue. "They deserve every bit of happiness, and gods, I want to be happy for them. But some small, ugly part of me fucking hates it." For anyone who didn't know the butcher, they might think him disinclined to hear of Flora's woes, but it wasn't just because of their friendship she felt comfortable sharing, but because of what a lover of gossip he secretly was.
what doesn't kill me makes
me want you more
me want you more
