i could be the reason you can't sleep at night
Flora had never felt smaller or brighter.
Safrin’s touch was warmth and recognition in equal measure—gentler than she’d expected, fiercer than she deserved—and it almost undid her. Her breath caught, not out of fear or awe (though both sang like high notes in her bones), but because I see you hit her like lightning through the ribs.
She didn’t cry, though her eyes glistened like the glass she’d laid at the goddess’s feet. Instead, she clung tighter to Hadama’s hand as Safrin stepped back and the stars themselves bent to her will. The dome that unfurled above was more beautiful than Flora had dared to hope. She could feel it settle over Haulani like a seal over a wound, see it glimmer against the air in places only magic could trace. And yet—when Safrin’s warning followed, her stomach dropped.
Vox could still reach them.
"Of course he can," Flora murmured, more to herself than anyone else. Her jaw tightened, defiance flaring like a match struck too close to her heart. Of course the Family would find a way. They always did. But then Safrin smiled again, and for a moment, it felt like dawn. Flora straightened slowly, carefully, and inclined her head. "Thanks, Safrin," she echoed after Hadama, voice steadier than she felt.
Even if it meant she’d never walk Haulani’s streets again. Even if it meant losing something else. She smiled then, small and aching but sincere, gaze flicking to Hadama beside her.
As the shimmer of starlight faded into the sky and the hush of the waves crept back in, Flora’s shoulders dropped with a quiet, weary exhale. The barrier was beautiful—perfect, even—but it glowed like a lock behind her eyes. She had asked for this. Voted for it. Fought for it. And now, she was no longer allowed to set foot in the streets where she’d grown up, where Enzo had laughed, where she’d first kissed and ruled and bled. Half her home was now closed to her. She didn't cry, didn’t speak, just stood there for a moment longer with her hand still clasped in Hadama’s, the sea behind her and the stars above, and let the loss settle like sand through her bones.
~fin
Safrin’s touch was warmth and recognition in equal measure—gentler than she’d expected, fiercer than she deserved—and it almost undid her. Her breath caught, not out of fear or awe (though both sang like high notes in her bones), but because I see you hit her like lightning through the ribs.
She didn’t cry, though her eyes glistened like the glass she’d laid at the goddess’s feet. Instead, she clung tighter to Hadama’s hand as Safrin stepped back and the stars themselves bent to her will. The dome that unfurled above was more beautiful than Flora had dared to hope. She could feel it settle over Haulani like a seal over a wound, see it glimmer against the air in places only magic could trace. And yet—when Safrin’s warning followed, her stomach dropped.
Vox could still reach them.
"Of course he can," Flora murmured, more to herself than anyone else. Her jaw tightened, defiance flaring like a match struck too close to her heart. Of course the Family would find a way. They always did. But then Safrin smiled again, and for a moment, it felt like dawn. Flora straightened slowly, carefully, and inclined her head. "Thanks, Safrin," she echoed after Hadama, voice steadier than she felt.
Even if it meant she’d never walk Haulani’s streets again. Even if it meant losing something else. She smiled then, small and aching but sincere, gaze flicking to Hadama beside her.
As the shimmer of starlight faded into the sky and the hush of the waves crept back in, Flora’s shoulders dropped with a quiet, weary exhale. The barrier was beautiful—perfect, even—but it glowed like a lock behind her eyes. She had asked for this. Voted for it. Fought for it. And now, she was no longer allowed to set foot in the streets where she’d grown up, where Enzo had laughed, where she’d first kissed and ruled and bled. Half her home was now closed to her. She didn't cry, didn’t speak, just stood there for a moment longer with her hand still clasped in Hadama’s, the sea behind her and the stars above, and let the loss settle like sand through her bones.
~fin
