Flora
Flora accepts the offered knife without a hitch, sliding it carefully, hilt-down, into the waistband at the small of her back. Her fingers return to Jack’s hair, sectioning it slowly and rhythmically. Each scratch of her nails along his scalp is gentle, like she’s trying to smooth away the storms she knows still darken the edges of his mind. Maybe she is, even knowing that what she’s about to say will do little to keep the clouds at bay.
But that’s the whole point, isn't it? Jack had let her know in no uncertain terms that keeping him in the dark hurt far worse than any storm she might have otherwise brought, and so whether or not there might be a better time or place for this conversation, Flora errs on the side of not making the same mistake twice.
When she finally slips the blade free again, it’s with quiet precision, feathering off the sun-bleached ends of his hair with slow, measured movements. She clears her throat lightly, though her lips come back together, this evidently being a one-way conversation for anyone watching the pair.
I’m going to get more blood from the Family, she thinks. For Torchline. And I’m going to do it at Pierce’s pool party. Flora's thoughts ripple quietly beneath her words, like sunlight scattering on restless water—bright on the surface, shadowed underneath—even as her hands keep moving, steadily trimming away Jack's split ends.
But that’s the whole point, isn't it? Jack had let her know in no uncertain terms that keeping him in the dark hurt far worse than any storm she might have otherwise brought, and so whether or not there might be a better time or place for this conversation, Flora errs on the side of not making the same mistake twice.
When she finally slips the blade free again, it’s with quiet precision, feathering off the sun-bleached ends of his hair with slow, measured movements. She clears her throat lightly, though her lips come back together, this evidently being a one-way conversation for anyone watching the pair.
I’m going to get more blood from the Family, she thinks. For Torchline. And I’m going to do it at Pierce’s pool party. Flora's thoughts ripple quietly beneath her words, like sunlight scattering on restless water—bright on the surface, shadowed underneath—even as her hands keep moving, steadily trimming away Jack's split ends.
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense
why the wound is still bleedin'
why the wound is still bleedin'
Code stolen from Queen Sky
