flora
What Jack feels as frost—biting, brittle, familiar in its pushback—Flora mind had conjured as the yawning mouth of loneliness. And maybe they’re the same thing in different languages, or maybe to a man like Jack who isn't used to feeling sad or needy, it all just feels like a chill. The sea has never been fluent in flowers, and Flora’s grown tired of bleeding petals just to be misunderstood, especially now that the conversation had been closed more than once.
Still, she forgets. Too easily. The sound of the captain's laughter had unravelled something that felt like hope in her ribs, warm and sharp and treacherous. She’d thought she was past this, and yet as she follows his retreating footsteps with her gaze and hums a low sound of agreement, she swallows down the urge to ask him to stay just in time for the brisk wind from outside to steal away the words anyhow.
There’s nothing graceful in the way she rises, only habit and purpose braided tight enough to keep her moving. She pads to the helm, unfurling the sails with well-practiced flicks of her fingers despite the cold. The wind greets her with a slap, but the Sugartide takes to it like she was born for the skies, and Flora exhales steady, guiding her upward.
The Ark floats like a ghost above, and Flora—Queen of Torchline, heartbreak connoisseur, expert in surviving her endings—keeps her course steady as they rise.
Still, she forgets. Too easily. The sound of the captain's laughter had unravelled something that felt like hope in her ribs, warm and sharp and treacherous. She’d thought she was past this, and yet as she follows his retreating footsteps with her gaze and hums a low sound of agreement, she swallows down the urge to ask him to stay just in time for the brisk wind from outside to steal away the words anyhow.
There’s nothing graceful in the way she rises, only habit and purpose braided tight enough to keep her moving. She pads to the helm, unfurling the sails with well-practiced flicks of her fingers despite the cold. The wind greets her with a slap, but the Sugartide takes to it like she was born for the skies, and Flora exhales steady, guiding her upward.
The Ark floats like a ghost above, and Flora—Queen of Torchline, heartbreak connoisseur, expert in surviving her endings—keeps her course steady as they rise.
what doesn't kill me makes
me want you more
me want you more
