and all that we intend is scrawled in sand
Flora’s fingers tighten in Koa's like they’re trying to stitch something back together—not to undo what’s been said, but to hold it in place for just a little longer. Her smile grows, blooming in the softest corner of her mouth, but it splinters too, bittersweet and delicate, like something fragile catching in the wind. It means everything and nothing at once, to know he saw it too—the half-life folded into the seams of their days apart. A mirage neither of them could ever drink from, no matter how close it shimmered.
"Back then, everything was a dream," she murmurs, the words brushed in warmth and weight both. "Not pretend, not fake...just softer. We were too young to know what real life even was, and maybe that was the magic. That we had everything we thought we needed with nothing pulling us down. That summer, it was a world of our own making. And it was real in the way that first things always are." She doesn’t want to strip it of its truth, even if time and change have carved new stories into them both, because for however easy it was, however young they both were, it had been real.
Hadn't it?
Her hand tugs gently at his, wanting to coax him down from the stump, to ground him beside her in the tall grass where sunlight filters through the trees in flickering gold. Sighing Flora turns his hand over in hers, cradling it like something sacred, like something that once held every part of her heart. With slow fingers, she begins to trace the lines on his palm, her thumb ghosting over the intersections of fortunes and fate like she used to do when they were younger, when she'd make up stories about how their lives would end.
Her eyes lift to his again once he pauses, ocean locked with copper. "If you don’t think you can give that to Sohalia—the everything you know she'll give you—you have to tell her. We both know how good she is, how deeply in love with you she is, and that kind of love...it deserves honesty. Not a trail of breadcrumbs to see how long she’ll follow before she starves from the waiting." Which, as they both knew, would be a long, long time. "At least that way whatever she does will be her choice."
As Koa continues, Flora's smile returns, sadder now but no less sincere, and when he offers to fight for her—quite literally—it lifts into a tired, worn laugh. "As tempting as that is," she hums, pressing softly against his hand with her fingertips, "if you beat the shit out of Jack, it’d make my life so much more complicated than it already is. So…thanks, but no thanks."
Flora glances over her shoulder, where the sun has begun its slow descent behind the trees, setting the edges of the glade alight in honeyed fire. The light slants long across the moss, drawing shadows that whisper of things ending. A breath sighs from her lungs, soft and aching. "Our hour’s almost up." Turning back to him, her voice drops to something barely more than a breath, something gentle enough to be mistaken for prayer or a plea. "You won’t remember any of this. But I hope...somewhere, deep down, it makes things easier. Even if you don’t know why." That maybe after this he'd just wake up feeling lighter. That maybe he could look at Sohalia with a bit more clarity, and maybe, if she was lucky, he could look at her without so much resentment, too.
"Anything else before we go?" she asks, holding his hand like it’s the last chapter of a book she already knows the ending to, but isn’t quite ready to close.
"Back then, everything was a dream," she murmurs, the words brushed in warmth and weight both. "Not pretend, not fake...just softer. We were too young to know what real life even was, and maybe that was the magic. That we had everything we thought we needed with nothing pulling us down. That summer, it was a world of our own making. And it was real in the way that first things always are." She doesn’t want to strip it of its truth, even if time and change have carved new stories into them both, because for however easy it was, however young they both were, it had been real.
Hadn't it?
Her hand tugs gently at his, wanting to coax him down from the stump, to ground him beside her in the tall grass where sunlight filters through the trees in flickering gold. Sighing Flora turns his hand over in hers, cradling it like something sacred, like something that once held every part of her heart. With slow fingers, she begins to trace the lines on his palm, her thumb ghosting over the intersections of fortunes and fate like she used to do when they were younger, when she'd make up stories about how their lives would end.
Her eyes lift to his again once he pauses, ocean locked with copper. "If you don’t think you can give that to Sohalia—the everything you know she'll give you—you have to tell her. We both know how good she is, how deeply in love with you she is, and that kind of love...it deserves honesty. Not a trail of breadcrumbs to see how long she’ll follow before she starves from the waiting." Which, as they both knew, would be a long, long time. "At least that way whatever she does will be her choice."
As Koa continues, Flora's smile returns, sadder now but no less sincere, and when he offers to fight for her—quite literally—it lifts into a tired, worn laugh. "As tempting as that is," she hums, pressing softly against his hand with her fingertips, "if you beat the shit out of Jack, it’d make my life so much more complicated than it already is. So…thanks, but no thanks."
Flora glances over her shoulder, where the sun has begun its slow descent behind the trees, setting the edges of the glade alight in honeyed fire. The light slants long across the moss, drawing shadows that whisper of things ending. A breath sighs from her lungs, soft and aching. "Our hour’s almost up." Turning back to him, her voice drops to something barely more than a breath, something gentle enough to be mistaken for prayer or a plea. "You won’t remember any of this. But I hope...somewhere, deep down, it makes things easier. Even if you don’t know why." That maybe after this he'd just wake up feeling lighter. That maybe he could look at Sohalia with a bit more clarity, and maybe, if she was lucky, he could look at her without so much resentment, too.
"Anything else before we go?" she asks, holding his hand like it’s the last chapter of a book she already knows the ending to, but isn’t quite ready to close.
