you hate the crash, but you love the rush
Safrin’s Mirror lives up to its name tonight. The steam rolls off the water in silken curls, rising toward the glitter-drenched velvet of the Halo sky. Stars shimmer overhead like they’ve been hand-pinned by the goddess herself—too many to count, too close to feel real—and below them, the surface of the hotspring gleams with that same celestial glow, as if the heavens have spilled themselves into the basin.
Flora floats near one of the edges, limbs loose and lazy beneath the water’s warm cradle. She’s in a green bikini that sets off her sun-kissed skin, the colour rich against the contrast of Halo’s pale stone and starlit frost. Her curls are piled atop her head in a haphazard twist, a few damp strands clinging to her temples, and her neck is arched just so against the edge of a smooth, heat-warmed rock, letting her head rest with the serene detachment of someone who’s finally exhaled.
Eyes closed, she breathes in the quiet, one earned by putting distance between herself and the world (Jack, Kaisel), by flying until the wind ran out and the sky grew dark. Until she found herself here.
Spice flutters nearby, perched daintily on a snow-dusted ledge. The little dragon blows determined puffs of frost at the rising steam, each exhale creating ghostly curls of ice that vanish before they can take shape. Her tiny claws click against the stone with each repositioning, the steam stubbornly refusing to freeze despite her best efforts.
Flora floats near one of the edges, limbs loose and lazy beneath the water’s warm cradle. She’s in a green bikini that sets off her sun-kissed skin, the colour rich against the contrast of Halo’s pale stone and starlit frost. Her curls are piled atop her head in a haphazard twist, a few damp strands clinging to her temples, and her neck is arched just so against the edge of a smooth, heat-warmed rock, letting her head rest with the serene detachment of someone who’s finally exhaled.
Eyes closed, she breathes in the quiet, one earned by putting distance between herself and the world (Jack, Kaisel), by flying until the wind ran out and the sky grew dark. Until she found herself here.
Spice flutters nearby, perched daintily on a snow-dusted ledge. The little dragon blows determined puffs of frost at the rising steam, each exhale creating ghostly curls of ice that vanish before they can take shape. Her tiny claws click against the stone with each repositioning, the steam stubbornly refusing to freeze despite her best efforts.
