flora
A laugh tumbles from Flora, low and warm, sparked as much by the honesty as the bitter humour. "Yeahhhhhh," she agrees, a quiet lilt of amusement in her voice as she tips her head back against the bench, letting her gaze wander skyward. "Though more in the last few seasons than ever before."
The weight of being something—someone—to everyone had crept up slowly, threaded into her life like sea salt in the air: imperceptible until it left her dry, stinging, and a little raw.
"Mmh. We probably do all need more sleep," she murmurs instead, a lazy, sun-heavy concession to the truth of it. Then, shifting with a sigh, she slips from the bench, her sandals whispering through the grass in an effort to make it easier for Colt to pinpoint where she was, as she steps toward the well. "Don’t stop on my account," she calls gently, making sure her voice carries. "Unless you think I'm bad luck for wish-making."
The weight of being something—someone—to everyone had crept up slowly, threaded into her life like sea salt in the air: imperceptible until it left her dry, stinging, and a little raw.
"Mmh. We probably do all need more sleep," she murmurs instead, a lazy, sun-heavy concession to the truth of it. Then, shifting with a sigh, she slips from the bench, her sandals whispering through the grass in an effort to make it easier for Colt to pinpoint where she was, as she steps toward the well. "Don’t stop on my account," she calls gently, making sure her voice carries. "Unless you think I'm bad luck for wish-making."
How can a person know everything at 18 but nothing at 22?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
Will you still want me when I'm nothing new?
