we show off our different scarlet letters
Flora inhales as the dagger sinks into Astaroth’s chest, her breath catching not in triumph but in sharp, involuntary sympathy. She hadn’t meant to land it quite so square—but then again, he had said no holding back. Her wince is fleeting, buried under the shimmer of adrenaline that begins to sing in her limbs like the first notes of a dangerous duet.
"You’re not the only one who can draw blood, babes," she purrs, voice velvet over thorns, even as his fist cuts through the air toward her. But Flora is already moving—spine fluid, hips twisting just enough to let the blow glance past her. It’s not just a dodge; it’s a flourish. A deliberate, dancer’s arc that makes her pivot feel less like combat and more like choreography. Her curls whip behind her as she spins away, lips parted in exhilaration and something like apology.
And then her hand lifts, fingers snapping with a flicker of intent. The dagger shudders in his chest—then pulls free as if tugged by an invisible thread, its poisoned edge gleaming with borrowed heat. It spins through the air with an elegant, almost lazy grace, before dropping neatly into her waiting palm.
2/4
"You’re not the only one who can draw blood, babes," she purrs, voice velvet over thorns, even as his fist cuts through the air toward her. But Flora is already moving—spine fluid, hips twisting just enough to let the blow glance past her. It’s not just a dodge; it’s a flourish. A deliberate, dancer’s arc that makes her pivot feel less like combat and more like choreography. Her curls whip behind her as she spins away, lips parted in exhilaration and something like apology.
And then her hand lifts, fingers snapping with a flicker of intent. The dagger shudders in his chest—then pulls free as if tugged by an invisible thread, its poisoned edge gleaming with borrowed heat. It spins through the air with an elegant, almost lazy grace, before dropping neatly into her waiting palm.
2/4
