flora
The wind drifted low through the Mourn, soft enough to rustle the tall grass but not strong enough to scatter the petals that Flora carefully pressed against a freshly cleaned headstone. Her tank top clung in places from the effort of bending and brushing, pale fabric smudged faintly at the hem with dust. Jeans cuffed at the ankles bore evidence of kneeling, the knees dulled where they’d met the ground. She looked plainer than usual—no gold stacked along her arms, no layered necklaces flashing as she worked—but there was still a kind of elegance to her, even stripped of sparkle. A quiet kind, built of posture and poise and the way her braid swung gently over one shoulder when she moved.
She reached out a hand behind her without looking, palm up in silent command. "Flower," she called, fingers wriggling faintly in expectation.
When she felt the familiar press of stem and petals slide into her grip, she snickered under her breath, amusement curling at the corner of her mouth like smoke. "I heard about this couple," she said, voice low and conversational as she nestled the bloom into place beside the grave’s edge, "where the husband died first and had his ashes turned into an hourglass."
She sat back on her heels, brushing a curl from her cheek with her wrist, smirk widening as she glanced over her shoulder at Kaisel. "So he could keep reminding his wife that she was always late even after he died."
She reached out a hand behind her without looking, palm up in silent command. "Flower," she called, fingers wriggling faintly in expectation.
When she felt the familiar press of stem and petals slide into her grip, she snickered under her breath, amusement curling at the corner of her mouth like smoke. "I heard about this couple," she said, voice low and conversational as she nestled the bloom into place beside the grave’s edge, "where the husband died first and had his ashes turned into an hourglass."
She sat back on her heels, brushing a curl from her cheek with her wrist, smirk widening as she glanced over her shoulder at Kaisel. "So he could keep reminding his wife that she was always late even after he died."
I hope you're wetting your appetite, finding your way into someone's eyes
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour
I hope you're dreaming in black and white, and seeing in colour
