flora
Flora doesn't answer right away; instead, she just presses her face into the side of Asta’s neck, letting the scratch of his stubble and the familiar rich scent of him blur into the night until the sting behind her eyes feels manageable again. Her curls tangle into his dark hair, and she lets them stay like that—wound tight, still—as if proximity could anchor her where nothing else has managed to lately.
"Horribly fucked up," she echoes at last, the words a breath, a bitter agreement. "He said it like it was a joke. Like hurting me was this clever twist in some game we were playing that I should have seen coming." Her nails catch against the seam of the blanket as she gathers it tighter around her shoulders before lifting her head enough to glance at him, pale eyes luminous in the dark. "And really I think that's all our relationship ever was to him. Just a game. I made him feel like he wasn't in control, and instead of talking to me like a person, he decided to punish me for it." Her smile is crooked, salt-damp, razor-thin. "Isn’t that romantic?"
Her laugh is quiet and hollow, and she sinks back against him with a kind of tired finality, like the weight of it all has finally stopped being something she can carry on her own. The Sugar Tide rocks gently beneath them, her sails catching the moonlight, and for once Flora doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence that follows.
"Gods, why couldn't things have worked out with you though? You're perfect," the queen teases with a sigh. "If anything ever happens with Danta, I demand one more crack at you," she adds, glancing up at the butcher and wrinkling her nose affectionately. It's all in jest of course, but gods what Flora wouldn't give just to have someone who was kind, even if said somehow was wholly uninterested in her for the most part.
"Horribly fucked up," she echoes at last, the words a breath, a bitter agreement. "He said it like it was a joke. Like hurting me was this clever twist in some game we were playing that I should have seen coming." Her nails catch against the seam of the blanket as she gathers it tighter around her shoulders before lifting her head enough to glance at him, pale eyes luminous in the dark. "And really I think that's all our relationship ever was to him. Just a game. I made him feel like he wasn't in control, and instead of talking to me like a person, he decided to punish me for it." Her smile is crooked, salt-damp, razor-thin. "Isn’t that romantic?"
Her laugh is quiet and hollow, and she sinks back against him with a kind of tired finality, like the weight of it all has finally stopped being something she can carry on her own. The Sugar Tide rocks gently beneath them, her sails catching the moonlight, and for once Flora doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence that follows.
"Gods, why couldn't things have worked out with you though? You're perfect," the queen teases with a sigh. "If anything ever happens with Danta, I demand one more crack at you," she adds, glancing up at the butcher and wrinkling her nose affectionately. It's all in jest of course, but gods what Flora wouldn't give just to have someone who was kind, even if said somehow was wholly uninterested in her for the most part.
what doesn't kill me makes
me want you more
me want you more
