this is why we can't have nice things, honey
With both Ancients peeling themselves away and Danta already slinking off to the bathroom, Flora leans back with a little sigh. Her face still coated in the remnants of green luxury as well, that were it not for Danta's remarks, she might have forgotten about completely.
Padding barefoot down the hallway, she slows just long enough to peek past the door of the bathroom, catching sight of Asta wrapping his arms around Danta, the pair of them tangled together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her lips twitch, fondness curling in her chest, but she doesn’t interrupt.
Instead, she tiptoes past and heads upstairs, the cool tiles of the upper bathroom floor making her hum indulgently. She splashes water over her face, wiping away the mask and patting her cheeks dry with a towel, her reflection in the mirror slightly flushed but no longer streaked in green.
Leaning out of the doorway, voice lazily echoing down the stairs, she calls, "You two coming to bed, or are you planning a bathroom sleepover?" Her tone is light, suggesting that should they need a moment to themselves after the bomb she'd dropped on them, that she'd be happy to wait (or just to head off to bed on her own). Reaching for a jar of moisturizer that smelled of citrus and lilac, Flora smeared it across her cheeks and beneath her eyes, trying very hard not to think about how this was the last night she'd be spending in this house for what would likely be quite a while.
Padding barefoot down the hallway, she slows just long enough to peek past the door of the bathroom, catching sight of Asta wrapping his arms around Danta, the pair of them tangled together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her lips twitch, fondness curling in her chest, but she doesn’t interrupt.
Instead, she tiptoes past and heads upstairs, the cool tiles of the upper bathroom floor making her hum indulgently. She splashes water over her face, wiping away the mask and patting her cheeks dry with a towel, her reflection in the mirror slightly flushed but no longer streaked in green.
Leaning out of the doorway, voice lazily echoing down the stairs, she calls, "You two coming to bed, or are you planning a bathroom sleepover?" Her tone is light, suggesting that should they need a moment to themselves after the bomb she'd dropped on them, that she'd be happy to wait (or just to head off to bed on her own). Reaching for a jar of moisturizer that smelled of citrus and lilac, Flora smeared it across her cheeks and beneath her eyes, trying very hard not to think about how this was the last night she'd be spending in this house for what would likely be quite a while.
