with each love i cut loose i was never the same
The Spyglass was quiet this time of day, golden light filtering through the tall, glass-panelled dome like honey poured over parchment. Dust motes danced in the beams, and the only sound was the soft shush of paper as Flora rifled through star charts laid out across the observation table. Her curls were piled in a loose bun, and she’d rolled the sleeves of her blouse up to the elbows, careful not to smudge the ink drying on the edges of her latest draft. The idea had been a good one, she was sure of it: a starmap drawn not just for accuracy, but for aesthetics. Something Sohalia could pin to her wall and smile at, a constellation of affection traced in silver and soft indigo.
Of course, that was before the binder betrayed her.
Stretching to reach it from the top shelf—tiptoes, one foot off the ground, nails glittering with leftover party polish—Flora let out a satisfied "aha!" as her fingers grazed the spine...only for the whole thing to come toppling forward like a sleepy avalanche.
"Ohshitno—!"
Maps spilled like a waterfall, parchment flaring wide and dramatic as they fluttered in every direction. The binder hit the floor with a thud, papers skittering beneath tables and curling in the corners, catching breezes from the vents like they had somewhere important to be.
Flora just stood there, frozen for a moment in the middle of her papery disaster, one hand still stretched upward, the other slowly rising to cover her mouth.
Of course, that was before the binder betrayed her.
Stretching to reach it from the top shelf—tiptoes, one foot off the ground, nails glittering with leftover party polish—Flora let out a satisfied "aha!" as her fingers grazed the spine...only for the whole thing to come toppling forward like a sleepy avalanche.
"Ohshitno—!"
Maps spilled like a waterfall, parchment flaring wide and dramatic as they fluttered in every direction. The binder hit the floor with a thud, papers skittering beneath tables and curling in the corners, catching breezes from the vents like they had somewhere important to be.
Flora just stood there, frozen for a moment in the middle of her papery disaster, one hand still stretched upward, the other slowly rising to cover her mouth.
