flora
The docks are quieter now, the aftermath of the day's chaos sunk into the lull of evening tide. A few hels wheel overhead, silhouetted against the fading peach of the sky, and the breeze carries the scent of salt, oil, and something sweeter from one of the food carts still open down the boardwalk. Somewhere out at sea, music drifts faintly from a passing skiff—muffled laughter and the twang of strings, too far to matter.
Closer to shore, the Sugar Tide rocks gently at her mooring, bright sails catching the lamplight in flares of pink and gold.
There’s no fanfare to her arrival—no footsteps, no voice. Just the sudden presence of something unseen as Flora drifts toward the waiting guard, high on the sugar-rush thrill of success. She’d done it: The blood was collected, the daggers had been scraped of Pierce's blood. Still, her thoughts are a mess of tangled threads: glittering, knotted, wild. She’s giddy one moment, jittery the next, the adrenaline of the day refusing to fully let go. It hadn’t gone perfectly—not with Vox so close, not with the Family undoubtedly regrouping in the shadows, not with whatever had happened with the Carpenter family and Sohalia. The win tastes sharp in her mouth, like pomegranate and poison, sweet but with something bitter tucked behind the teeth.
Invisible, it's only a bright hum that announces her approach. Then a firm hand presses a folded parchment into the guard’s palm; neatly written, perfumed, and inked with little hearts beside each item on the list. Before he can respond, a bright red kiss blooms on his cheek, glossy and perfectly shaped like a signature in wax.
Flora doesn’t linger, instead turning toward the Sugar Tide again, heart still skipping along the rim of something reckless. There’s too much to do, too much to plan—and far too many feelings she’d rather not think about.
Closer to shore, the Sugar Tide rocks gently at her mooring, bright sails catching the lamplight in flares of pink and gold.
There’s no fanfare to her arrival—no footsteps, no voice. Just the sudden presence of something unseen as Flora drifts toward the waiting guard, high on the sugar-rush thrill of success. She’d done it: The blood was collected, the daggers had been scraped of Pierce's blood. Still, her thoughts are a mess of tangled threads: glittering, knotted, wild. She’s giddy one moment, jittery the next, the adrenaline of the day refusing to fully let go. It hadn’t gone perfectly—not with Vox so close, not with the Family undoubtedly regrouping in the shadows, not with whatever had happened with the Carpenter family and Sohalia. The win tastes sharp in her mouth, like pomegranate and poison, sweet but with something bitter tucked behind the teeth.
Invisible, it's only a bright hum that announces her approach. Then a firm hand presses a folded parchment into the guard’s palm; neatly written, perfumed, and inked with little hearts beside each item on the list. Before he can respond, a bright red kiss blooms on his cheek, glossy and perfectly shaped like a signature in wax.
Flora doesn’t linger, instead turning toward the Sugar Tide again, heart still skipping along the rim of something reckless. There’s too much to do, too much to plan—and far too many feelings she’d rather not think about.
Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price
You know that I bought it
You know that I bought it
