flora
Flora snickers, head dipping as if she can’t quite contain the laugh before it spills. "First of all, who exactly would you have been in love with? That girl who took your v-card at graduation?" she asks, grinning sidelong. "Or maybe Rebecca?" Her tone is teasing but fond, a flick of affectionate mischief that softens any sting. "And second, please—if you ever actually fall in love, you’ll be handing out matching t-shirts and screeching your couple name from the rooftops. It’ll be unbearable." And adorable, and absurdly Kaisel.
Stepping around another grave, she bends to settle a flower in the grass, fingers brushing the worn edge of the stone before she straightens again. "I don’t think I’ll make it to the grey-haired part, if I’m being honest." Her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug that tries for casual but lands somewhere closer to matter-of-fact. "With the way I live, I’m probably here for a good time, not a long time." Which, honestly, seemed fine to her.
Still, his widow fantasy earns a dry little smile. "That’s very noble of you," she says, voice laced with amusement. "But I dunno. I guess I'd want my husband to move on, but if he actually managed to do it? Ugh. I’d be waaaaaaaay too jealous. The thought of being replaced would make me want to die again" Shrugging, Flora smirks. "I’d have to ghost him instead of haunt him. Give him the full cold-shoulder-afterlife-treatment."
The grin that curves her lips next is wicked and bright as she gestures for another flower. "Skeleton in the living room’s not bad, but I’d need to be on wheels, obviously. Get rolled around, take in the views, still be a part of everything." She twirls a flower between her fingers like a baton. "Mateo wears our Nonna’s fingerbones around his neck, so maybe I’ll divide myself up. I could be a magic mirror that always gives compliments, or a hairbrush that tames bedhead."
Turning toward him with a conspiratorial glint, she lifts a brow. "Ooh, or a sword. I could shout insults and do emotional damage as well as slashing damage." She cocks her head, curls dancing in the breeze. "What do you think? Would you carry me around?"
Stepping around another grave, she bends to settle a flower in the grass, fingers brushing the worn edge of the stone before she straightens again. "I don’t think I’ll make it to the grey-haired part, if I’m being honest." Her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug that tries for casual but lands somewhere closer to matter-of-fact. "With the way I live, I’m probably here for a good time, not a long time." Which, honestly, seemed fine to her.
Still, his widow fantasy earns a dry little smile. "That’s very noble of you," she says, voice laced with amusement. "But I dunno. I guess I'd want my husband to move on, but if he actually managed to do it? Ugh. I’d be waaaaaaaay too jealous. The thought of being replaced would make me want to die again" Shrugging, Flora smirks. "I’d have to ghost him instead of haunt him. Give him the full cold-shoulder-afterlife-treatment."
The grin that curves her lips next is wicked and bright as she gestures for another flower. "Skeleton in the living room’s not bad, but I’d need to be on wheels, obviously. Get rolled around, take in the views, still be a part of everything." She twirls a flower between her fingers like a baton. "Mateo wears our Nonna’s fingerbones around his neck, so maybe I’ll divide myself up. I could be a magic mirror that always gives compliments, or a hairbrush that tames bedhead."
Turning toward him with a conspiratorial glint, she lifts a brow. "Ooh, or a sword. I could shout insults and do emotional damage as well as slashing damage." She cocks her head, curls dancing in the breeze. "What do you think? Would you carry me around?"
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
