flora
The sound of her heels biting into the sand is delicate, but it’s the colour that hits first—blistering red, like the threat of a sunburn or the flash of a warning flag. Flora glides into view with a drink in hand and a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes, the kind of smile meant to kill conversation before it starts. The long lace wrap draped over her shoulders trails like sea foam behind her, whispering secrets as it flutters in the ocean breeze.
Torchline shouldn’t have to tolerate this.
She shouldn’t have to tolerate this, but fuck it, here she is.
Her aqua eyes sweep across the party with idle disdain dressed up as curiosity. There’s the usual chaos—drinks, pool floaties that are a little too on the nose, and the buzzing hum of manufactured fun—but underneath it, something is off. The air hums too tight in her chest, like the beat of the music is one second from skipping.
And then there’s him. Pierce stands at the centre of it all like he belongs here and fuck if that doesn't make Flora want to scream. Instead of looking directly at him, instead her gaze skims past him like the brush of a feathered dagger, lingering instead on the man beneath the umbrella. Jack. She doesn’t wave, doesn’t smile. Whatever strange, tense ceasefire exists between them now, the one thing she knows with absolute certainty is that he loathes Pierce as much as she does. And that is perhaps the only thing she finds comfort in just now.
Her fingers tighten slightly around her glass as she opts to linger in the sunlight, not wanting to stand too close to anyone lest someone else is caught up in the crossfire of the numerous threats levelled against her.
Torchline shouldn’t have to tolerate this.
She shouldn’t have to tolerate this, but fuck it, here she is.
Her aqua eyes sweep across the party with idle disdain dressed up as curiosity. There’s the usual chaos—drinks, pool floaties that are a little too on the nose, and the buzzing hum of manufactured fun—but underneath it, something is off. The air hums too tight in her chest, like the beat of the music is one second from skipping.
And then there’s him. Pierce stands at the centre of it all like he belongs here and fuck if that doesn't make Flora want to scream. Instead of looking directly at him, instead her gaze skims past him like the brush of a feathered dagger, lingering instead on the man beneath the umbrella. Jack. She doesn’t wave, doesn’t smile. Whatever strange, tense ceasefire exists between them now, the one thing she knows with absolute certainty is that he loathes Pierce as much as she does. And that is perhaps the only thing she finds comfort in just now.
Her fingers tighten slightly around her glass as she opts to linger in the sunlight, not wanting to stand too close to anyone lest someone else is caught up in the crossfire of the numerous threats levelled against her.
The rumors are terrible and cruel
But honey, most of them are true
But honey, most of them are true
