flora
Flora gasps as the ice-cold splash crashes over her bare back, soaking her curls and sliding in rivulets down the curve of her spine. Water clings to her skin in shivering streaks, plastering her golden curls to her head and making her pasties stand out in stark, flower-shaped protest. She freezes in place—half sprawled across Kaisel’s legs, hair dripping, mouth agape.
Then she turns her head. Slowly. Silently. Her expression could boil oceans.
"You're gonna regret that," she whispers.
And then? Chaos.
With one sharp movement, Flora twists the ring on her finger and vanishes. Not a sound, not a shimmer. Just a wet towel, a smug man, and suddenly: nothing. No queen. No warning.
"Spice," comes her voice from nowhere, low and dangerous, like thunder over distant water. "Attack formation." She could have just thought it to her companion, but where would the fun in that be?
The little dragon squeals with glee and begins spiralling overhead, puffing controlled gusts of frosty breath downward, turning the sun-warmed air into a swirl of dazzling chill.
And Kaisel? He'd do well to fear the cold.
Invisible now, Flora pivots her body—twisting from where she’d been wrapped around his leg to reposition above him. His ribs, gloriously exposed in his oiled-up attempt at sun safety, are her next battleground. With a devilish grin that no one can see, she drives her fingers up along the sensitive length of his side, scratching and teasing with maddening precision.
"You wanna throw ice water and bad one-liners at me?" her disembodied voice growls near his ear, her breath warm even as Spice’s mist cools the air. "I invented the dramatic comeback, Assborn." He’s surrounded now. A cloud of freezing mist above. Invisible fingers below. Wet skin, slick limbs, and a queen with no mercy.
"Spice! Bring me his crown jewels!" A command the little dragon is more than happy to assist with, abandoning her post overhead and instead tilting to blast a stream of icy air between Kaisel's legs that his floundering has left wonderfully unprotected.
Then she turns her head. Slowly. Silently. Her expression could boil oceans.
"You're gonna regret that," she whispers.
And then? Chaos.
With one sharp movement, Flora twists the ring on her finger and vanishes. Not a sound, not a shimmer. Just a wet towel, a smug man, and suddenly: nothing. No queen. No warning.
"Spice," comes her voice from nowhere, low and dangerous, like thunder over distant water. "Attack formation." She could have just thought it to her companion, but where would the fun in that be?
The little dragon squeals with glee and begins spiralling overhead, puffing controlled gusts of frosty breath downward, turning the sun-warmed air into a swirl of dazzling chill.
And Kaisel? He'd do well to fear the cold.
Invisible now, Flora pivots her body—twisting from where she’d been wrapped around his leg to reposition above him. His ribs, gloriously exposed in his oiled-up attempt at sun safety, are her next battleground. With a devilish grin that no one can see, she drives her fingers up along the sensitive length of his side, scratching and teasing with maddening precision.
"You wanna throw ice water and bad one-liners at me?" her disembodied voice growls near his ear, her breath warm even as Spice’s mist cools the air. "I invented the dramatic comeback, Assborn." He’s surrounded now. A cloud of freezing mist above. Invisible fingers below. Wet skin, slick limbs, and a queen with no mercy.
"Spice! Bring me his crown jewels!" A command the little dragon is more than happy to assist with, abandoning her post overhead and instead tilting to blast a stream of icy air between Kaisel's legs that his floundering has left wonderfully unprotected.
I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights
I wanna kill the lights
