with each love i cut loose i was never the same
Flora wrinkles her nose, head tilting slightly as she casts a once-over down Liam’s frame. "Is it though?' she drawls, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement. "You’re giving more ‘bruised grape left in the sun too long’ than fashion-forward." The tease is light, but there’s still a watchfulness behind her eyes, that same tension coiled beneath the surface.
But it’s his next question that earns a lofted brow and a dramatic, imperious lift of her chin. "Please." Her tone is pure queen, effortless and sharp as cut glass. "Dahlia’s the reason they’re gone. If she hadn’t attacked me, she wouldn’t have gotten herself pricked by a rose."
She tosses a stray leaf from her shoulder with a flick of her fingers. "And anyway," she adds, her voice turning breezy as her smile cools, "they overstayed their welcome."
Just in case Liam’s easy posture is harbouring any clever thoughts—some fond little notion of defending the Family or mourning their absence—Flora lifts her hand and, with a flick of her wrist, sends a dagger whistling through the air. It bites deep into the bark of the tree just inches from his head, the metal humming with impact as it settles.
But it’s his next question that earns a lofted brow and a dramatic, imperious lift of her chin. "Please." Her tone is pure queen, effortless and sharp as cut glass. "Dahlia’s the reason they’re gone. If she hadn’t attacked me, she wouldn’t have gotten herself pricked by a rose."
She tosses a stray leaf from her shoulder with a flick of her fingers. "And anyway," she adds, her voice turning breezy as her smile cools, "they overstayed their welcome."
Just in case Liam’s easy posture is harbouring any clever thoughts—some fond little notion of defending the Family or mourning their absence—Flora lifts her hand and, with a flick of her wrist, sends a dagger whistling through the air. It bites deep into the bark of the tree just inches from his head, the metal humming with impact as it settles.
