candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor
"Oh, please." Flora’s voice rings back across the rolling surf, bright as Hel-call on a clear morning. She surfaces in a crown of seawater, curls slicked against her scalp and eyes dancing with sun-struck mischief. "Sharks prefer tastier meals than sweaty dragoons who smell like coconut face-mask and farts," she teases, treading easily in the gentle swells despite how her runners threaten to weigh her down.
She lifts one arm and beckons, the gesture half-challenge, half-invitation. "Besides—Torchline’s reef keeps the big biters farther out, and Spice is on lifeguard duty." The little dragon, currently orbiting overhead in figure-eights, punctuates the claim with an airy trill and a sparkle of frost that never quite reaches the water. "So unless you're about to tell me you never learned how to swim, get in here."
Flora back-strokes a few lengths, giving him space to follow, then flips and plants her feet on a sandbar where the water laps only to her ribs. "Look," she calls, voice softening, "you ran the whole dock in this heat. Your muscles are screaming for a cold soak. Five seconds and you’ll forget the sand, the sweat, the world. Promise."
Another surge pushes shore-ward, misting her shoulders with salt spray. "So help me, if I have to channel another god to get you moving.." Flora laughs, curls of water cascading off her collarbones as she waits—confident that a little goading and the promise of cool relief will draw Kaisel from the baking sand and into the blue beside her.
She lifts one arm and beckons, the gesture half-challenge, half-invitation. "Besides—Torchline’s reef keeps the big biters farther out, and Spice is on lifeguard duty." The little dragon, currently orbiting overhead in figure-eights, punctuates the claim with an airy trill and a sparkle of frost that never quite reaches the water. "So unless you're about to tell me you never learned how to swim, get in here."
Flora back-strokes a few lengths, giving him space to follow, then flips and plants her feet on a sandbar where the water laps only to her ribs. "Look," she calls, voice softening, "you ran the whole dock in this heat. Your muscles are screaming for a cold soak. Five seconds and you’ll forget the sand, the sweat, the world. Promise."
Another surge pushes shore-ward, misting her shoulders with salt spray. "So help me, if I have to channel another god to get you moving.." Flora laughs, curls of water cascading off her collarbones as she waits—confident that a little goading and the promise of cool relief will draw Kaisel from the baking sand and into the blue beside her.
