Flora
That the moment doesn’t turn into something more is probably for the best, and Flora knows it. Not just because she’s still holding a wickedly sharp blade, or because her eyes had stung not twenty minutes ago with tears, but because letting it linger would have made it harder to step back. Harder to remind herself of all the space that still exists between what they were and what they are now.
Instead, she presses a laugh into the back of her hand, eyes widening with dramatic disbelief. "Yeah, you can say that again," she agrees, incredulous and fond all at once. Snipping the last uneven end with a soft flick of her wrist, Flora takes a step back, surveying her work with a slight tilt of her head. "Alright, go on," she says, gesturing at him with the flat of the blade that he was clear to use his magic to brush away the lingering hairs.
It’s shorter than she would’ve chosen—Flora has always liked the way it curled when it was long and damp from the sea—but still long enough to tie up without all the extra weight adding additional heat.
When he says he’s going to the party now, presumably because of her, she doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. Her lips curl at the corner, dry and appreciative. "Well, you’ll know when I’m about to ruin it," she murmurs, her thoughts brushing against his magic like the flicker of a lit match.
Instead, she presses a laugh into the back of her hand, eyes widening with dramatic disbelief. "Yeah, you can say that again," she agrees, incredulous and fond all at once. Snipping the last uneven end with a soft flick of her wrist, Flora takes a step back, surveying her work with a slight tilt of her head. "Alright, go on," she says, gesturing at him with the flat of the blade that he was clear to use his magic to brush away the lingering hairs.
It’s shorter than she would’ve chosen—Flora has always liked the way it curled when it was long and damp from the sea—but still long enough to tie up without all the extra weight adding additional heat.
When he says he’s going to the party now, presumably because of her, she doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. Her lips curl at the corner, dry and appreciative. "Well, you’ll know when I’m about to ruin it," she murmurs, her thoughts brushing against his magic like the flicker of a lit match.
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
