flora
Flora doesn’t hesitate. The moment Sohalia’s voice breaks across the plaza—cracked and raw and shaped around the word gone—she crosses the distance like it’s nothing, like the whole world has narrowed to this singular heartbreak, to the girl with salt in her lashes and an ache in her chest.
Her arms are around Soh before either of them can fall apart completely. No soft, delicate embrace—this is a hold made of muscle and conviction, the kind you use to pull someone back from a cliff’s edge. One hand curls protectively at the back of Sohalia’s head, the other wraps around her spine like a lifeline, and Flora crushes her close. "No," she says into gold-tousled hair, the word fierce and trembling. "He’s not gone."
She presses a kiss into the crown of Soh’s head, grounding and trembling all at once. "I’ll scream for Mort every day if I have to. I’ll go to my Dad and make him call him down from the stars. We're going to get him back."
Her voice doesn’t waver. Not once. Even with the burn at the back of her throat, even with the twist in her gut that knows exactly what it is to lose something irreplaceable. She pulls back just enough to look Sohalia in the eye, her hands still on her shoulders, fingers gentle but firm. "We are, okay?" she says again, slow and certain, like it’s not a wish but a vow. "I don’t care what it takes."
Her arms are around Soh before either of them can fall apart completely. No soft, delicate embrace—this is a hold made of muscle and conviction, the kind you use to pull someone back from a cliff’s edge. One hand curls protectively at the back of Sohalia’s head, the other wraps around her spine like a lifeline, and Flora crushes her close. "No," she says into gold-tousled hair, the word fierce and trembling. "He’s not gone."
She presses a kiss into the crown of Soh’s head, grounding and trembling all at once. "I’ll scream for Mort every day if I have to. I’ll go to my Dad and make him call him down from the stars. We're going to get him back."
Her voice doesn’t waver. Not once. Even with the burn at the back of her throat, even with the twist in her gut that knows exactly what it is to lose something irreplaceable. She pulls back just enough to look Sohalia in the eye, her hands still on her shoulders, fingers gentle but firm. "We are, okay?" she says again, slow and certain, like it’s not a wish but a vow. "I don’t care what it takes."
I'm stupid but I'm clever
I can make a shitshow look a whole lot like forever and ever
I can make a shitshow look a whole lot like forever and ever
