flora
Flora practically glows at the half-laugh she manages to tease out of him, the kind of grin that could melt frost off windowpanes. "See? You do have a sense of humour hidden under all those big sweaters of yours," she teases, before shaking her head as if deeply disappointed in his lack of capitalist ambition. "And don’t tempt me. I’ll rebrand your entire workshop if you want me to." She wiggles her fingers like she’s casting a spell, already envisioning signage and letterhead.
As she threads her needle with the shimmering gold and starts carefully stitching the raven feathers together, she lifts her eyes to play along, brows raised. "Oh, my mistake," she hums, mock-chastened.
But it’s the comment about emerging from the masquerade pristine that has her narrowing her eyes like a woman given a challenge. "Absolutely not," she declares, already shaking her head. “"If you walk out without at least one smudged line of kohl or a wrinkle in your very dramatic hood, I'll consider it a personal failing on my part." Then, more softly, almost innocently, she tilts her head and asks, "But just out of curiosity...what kind of person would tempt you into messing up all your lovely makeup?" She glances sideways at him, half-focused on her stitching, half-not. She already has some sort of idea, at least insofar as he's paid her zero attention, even just offhandedly. "Tall and gloomy? Short and mysterious? Or is it all about the bone structure?"
As she threads her needle with the shimmering gold and starts carefully stitching the raven feathers together, she lifts her eyes to play along, brows raised. "Oh, my mistake," she hums, mock-chastened.
But it’s the comment about emerging from the masquerade pristine that has her narrowing her eyes like a woman given a challenge. "Absolutely not," she declares, already shaking her head. “"If you walk out without at least one smudged line of kohl or a wrinkle in your very dramatic hood, I'll consider it a personal failing on my part." Then, more softly, almost innocently, she tilts her head and asks, "But just out of curiosity...what kind of person would tempt you into messing up all your lovely makeup?" She glances sideways at him, half-focused on her stitching, half-not. She already has some sort of idea, at least insofar as he's paid her zero attention, even just offhandedly. "Tall and gloomy? Short and mysterious? Or is it all about the bone structure?"
I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland
