flora
Spice, clever as ever, doesn’t need words to feel the quiet tug in Sohalia’s chest. She lifts from Flora’s scarf in a flutter of pale wings, the wind tugging at her tail as she sails the short distance between them. Landing lightly on Soh’s shoulder, the little dragon gives a soft, affectionate trill, nuzzling at the side of the Luminary's jaw. Flora doesn’t say anything about it; some things are better unspoken, especially when it come to grief. Words rarely mean as much as you want them to anyways, so the queen merely offers her friend an understanding smile.
As Soh decides on a stave, Flora unclips one of her daggers from its loop and gives it a lazy toss into the air. The blade spins in a glittering arc before dropping neatly into her waiting palm, like it never left. "We’ll start slow,”" Flora promises, though there’s a playful glint in her eye. "Give you a chance to bat ’em down before I really show off."
She steps back several paces, boots crunching over gravel until there’s enough distance between them. Her stance settles — balanced, loose, familiar — and she lifts the first dagger, weighing it in her hand before flicking her gaze toward Soh. "Ready?" Once Soh nods, Flora flicks her wrist and sends the blade arcing through the air slower than usual, deliberate, almost lazy in its curve, but still flying point-first toward the Luminary like a dare wrapped in silver.
1/4
As Soh decides on a stave, Flora unclips one of her daggers from its loop and gives it a lazy toss into the air. The blade spins in a glittering arc before dropping neatly into her waiting palm, like it never left. "We’ll start slow,”" Flora promises, though there’s a playful glint in her eye. "Give you a chance to bat ’em down before I really show off."
She steps back several paces, boots crunching over gravel until there’s enough distance between them. Her stance settles — balanced, loose, familiar — and she lifts the first dagger, weighing it in her hand before flicking her gaze toward Soh. "Ready?" Once Soh nods, Flora flicks her wrist and sends the blade arcing through the air slower than usual, deliberate, almost lazy in its curve, but still flying point-first toward the Luminary like a dare wrapped in silver.
1/4
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
