and all that we intend is scrawled in sand
The worst part is that she sees it coming.
From the moment Koa's arms stay crossed and his jaw ticks sideways, Flora knows exactly where this is going. That little hitch in his breath between sentences, the way his thumbs rub against his knuckles when he’s trying to stay calm—he used to do that right before turning away in a fight, before dragging in a breath to say something he didn’t want to. She’d once counted the freckles on his collarbone while he slept. Knew the exact way his mouth pulled when he was trying to be serious and not laugh. She used to tease him about the way he furrowed his brow when he was concentrating, how it looked like he was trying to out-stare a problem until it blinked first. Every single one of his tells still lives inside her like thorns—just duller now, rusting under the skin.
And from the way he won’t sit, won’t meet her eyes, Flora knows that whatever softness had existed between them has been put to death. So fine, if Koa wants to just rattle off a report? Queen Flora it is.
Her head lifts slowly, golden lashes casting long shadows against the sheen of her cheeks. "If you’re not going to talk to me like a real person," she murmurs, soft but cutting, "then I’m not going to answer you like one." There’s a chill to her tone as she continues, the kind that could frost over a goblet just as neatly as Spice could. "Both parties have confirmed the attack was not unprovoked," she says, not even using their names. "And what Torchline does with its citizens is not under Stormbreak’s jurisdiction. Especially not that of a Dragoon."
And that should be it, because suddenly Flora doesn't actually feel like bearing her heart and soul to the man she'd been too cowardly to love, not when he was looking at her like some obligation he couldn't wait to final check off his to-do list. Her fingers twitch in her lap where the little vial from Ludo rests hidden, but before she can dismiss Koa like the soldier he is, her breath hitches.
She doesn’t move fast, doesn’t dare. Having grown up in these woods, Flora knows better than to flee a Wicker Woman with haste. The bark at her back feels soft as a shroud as she presses herself against it to stand, even as she can hear the dry creak of wood as the creature shifts and stretches towards Koa.
Even so, Flora’s eyes never leave Koa’s face, though they flicker past him once, barely, before she extends her hand toward him. "Come on," she whispers, like they're the oldest of friends about to set off. "It’s time to go. Just—keep looking at me, okay?" The smile she flashes is strained, though when her aqua gaze finds his again, it's devoid of its earlier coldness and distance as her fingers stretch for his. "It'll be okay if you just keep looking at me and take my hand."
Behind Koa, the branches stretch lower, gnarled and curling, shadowing the grass in a slow, strangling embrace.
From the moment Koa's arms stay crossed and his jaw ticks sideways, Flora knows exactly where this is going. That little hitch in his breath between sentences, the way his thumbs rub against his knuckles when he’s trying to stay calm—he used to do that right before turning away in a fight, before dragging in a breath to say something he didn’t want to. She’d once counted the freckles on his collarbone while he slept. Knew the exact way his mouth pulled when he was trying to be serious and not laugh. She used to tease him about the way he furrowed his brow when he was concentrating, how it looked like he was trying to out-stare a problem until it blinked first. Every single one of his tells still lives inside her like thorns—just duller now, rusting under the skin.
And from the way he won’t sit, won’t meet her eyes, Flora knows that whatever softness had existed between them has been put to death. So fine, if Koa wants to just rattle off a report? Queen Flora it is.
Her head lifts slowly, golden lashes casting long shadows against the sheen of her cheeks. "If you’re not going to talk to me like a real person," she murmurs, soft but cutting, "then I’m not going to answer you like one." There’s a chill to her tone as she continues, the kind that could frost over a goblet just as neatly as Spice could. "Both parties have confirmed the attack was not unprovoked," she says, not even using their names. "And what Torchline does with its citizens is not under Stormbreak’s jurisdiction. Especially not that of a Dragoon."
And that should be it, because suddenly Flora doesn't actually feel like bearing her heart and soul to the man she'd been too cowardly to love, not when he was looking at her like some obligation he couldn't wait to final check off his to-do list. Her fingers twitch in her lap where the little vial from Ludo rests hidden, but before she can dismiss Koa like the soldier he is, her breath hitches.
She doesn’t move fast, doesn’t dare. Having grown up in these woods, Flora knows better than to flee a Wicker Woman with haste. The bark at her back feels soft as a shroud as she presses herself against it to stand, even as she can hear the dry creak of wood as the creature shifts and stretches towards Koa.
Even so, Flora’s eyes never leave Koa’s face, though they flicker past him once, barely, before she extends her hand toward him. "Come on," she whispers, like they're the oldest of friends about to set off. "It’s time to go. Just—keep looking at me, okay?" The smile she flashes is strained, though when her aqua gaze finds his again, it's devoid of its earlier coldness and distance as her fingers stretch for his. "It'll be okay if you just keep looking at me and take my hand."
Behind Koa, the branches stretch lower, gnarled and curling, shadowing the grass in a slow, strangling embrace.
