marked me like a bloodstain
Flora doesn’t answer at first—not with words. She only meets Kai’s copper gaze and holds it, steady and unblinking, for as long as she dares before the weight of it settles too deeply in her chest and she’s forced to look away. The air between them seems to still, quiet not in peace but in that aching way silence sometimes feels in places where something used to live.
When he says don’t do that, she nods, the movement small but sure. Her teeth find the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit softened by time, and her voice follows like silk unfurling through a crack in the wall. "I’m just trying to make it easier," she whispers, barely audible before she lowers it even more. .."I know it wasn’t just that." The words feel like an exhale, not quite a confession, but the closest she can come without unravelling. She shifts where she kneels, settling more fully on her calves, sleeves falling forward as she curls her hands into her lap, content now to simply watch the way Kai seems to fold inward like a paper house meeting rain. It tugs at something deep and old in her, something that still wants to reach for him, even now, no matter how much it will hurt later.
At his quiet insistence that she doesn’t deserve it, her mouth tilts sideways into the softest of smiles. "I know Caly has claws," she says gently, voice still wrapped in something far too tender for the sharpness of the subject, "but I doubt they’re worse than Dahlia’s." Her smile flickers, dimming into something more real. "And besides, I don't have anything to lose." She pauses, gaze on him again. "You do."
Then he tries the shift—tries to turn the spotlight back on her with a new angle—and Flora only rolls her eyes, the motion graceful and exaggerated. "Lest you forget," she drawls with theatrical primness, even as her tone softens toward affection, "I am the queen of Torchline, so you don’t actually get to tell me what’s my problem and what’s not." One brow arches, her gaze sweeping back to him as she smiles crookedly.
When he says don’t do that, she nods, the movement small but sure. Her teeth find the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit softened by time, and her voice follows like silk unfurling through a crack in the wall. "I’m just trying to make it easier," she whispers, barely audible before she lowers it even more. .."I know it wasn’t just that." The words feel like an exhale, not quite a confession, but the closest she can come without unravelling. She shifts where she kneels, settling more fully on her calves, sleeves falling forward as she curls her hands into her lap, content now to simply watch the way Kai seems to fold inward like a paper house meeting rain. It tugs at something deep and old in her, something that still wants to reach for him, even now, no matter how much it will hurt later.
At his quiet insistence that she doesn’t deserve it, her mouth tilts sideways into the softest of smiles. "I know Caly has claws," she says gently, voice still wrapped in something far too tender for the sharpness of the subject, "but I doubt they’re worse than Dahlia’s." Her smile flickers, dimming into something more real. "And besides, I don't have anything to lose." She pauses, gaze on him again. "You do."
Then he tries the shift—tries to turn the spotlight back on her with a new angle—and Flora only rolls her eyes, the motion graceful and exaggerated. "Lest you forget," she drawls with theatrical primness, even as her tone softens toward affection, "I am the queen of Torchline, so you don’t actually get to tell me what’s my problem and what’s not." One brow arches, her gaze sweeping back to him as she smiles crookedly.
