we show off our different scarlet letters
Flora raises a single brow, her smile curling like smoke at the corner of her mouth. "Lucky for you," she says, voice honey-laced and reckless, "I'm actually quite fast when I want to be." The dagger dances once more between her fingers, the glint of poison catching the dying light. "And if you're not holding back—" she tilts her head, curls spilling loose around her scarf as her grin sharpens into something almost feral, "neither am I."
The sudden shriek of feathers draws her attention sideways just as the crow dives for her—only to be engulfed in fire before it can get within snatching distance. Flora startles, eyes wide as the creature hits the dirt in a smoking heap, and for a beat she just stares at Astaroth. And then, slowly, wonderingly, her expression cracks into something bright and terribly fond. "You incinerated a thief for me," she murmurs, as if he’s just brought her wildflowers or opened a door. It’s said with playful reverence, but the affection behind it is real. A strange, dangerous warmth.
"Well," she purrs, slipping a second dagger into her hand, "now I definitely want to see what you can do."
She pivots with dancer’s grace, takes a few steps back until she’s at just the right distance, weight balanced on the balls of her feet. The dagger gleams once, twice—then launches from her hand with deadly precision, aimed straight at his chest.
1/4
The sudden shriek of feathers draws her attention sideways just as the crow dives for her—only to be engulfed in fire before it can get within snatching distance. Flora startles, eyes wide as the creature hits the dirt in a smoking heap, and for a beat she just stares at Astaroth. And then, slowly, wonderingly, her expression cracks into something bright and terribly fond. "You incinerated a thief for me," she murmurs, as if he’s just brought her wildflowers or opened a door. It’s said with playful reverence, but the affection behind it is real. A strange, dangerous warmth.
"Well," she purrs, slipping a second dagger into her hand, "now I definitely want to see what you can do."
She pivots with dancer’s grace, takes a few steps back until she’s at just the right distance, weight balanced on the balls of her feet. The dagger gleams once, twice—then launches from her hand with deadly precision, aimed straight at his chest.
1/4
