and all that we intend is scrawled in sand
Flora laughs, soft and pained, like a chord plucked out of tune. The sound curls in the golden air between them as her fingers tighten around Koa’s, not with panic, not with desperation, but with the quiet, aching hope that some part of her might stay behind. That even when the moment slips into memory—into her memory alone—there will be a warmth left behind in his palm, some echo of what had been shared.
As she rises, the glade seems to hold its breath with her. "I hope you do too," she murmurs, the words drifting like the hush of wind in the trees, delicate and sincere. "That something eases. That you walk away from this lighter, even if you don’t know why, and that it...stays." But when he speaks of letting go right, her movement stills. A flicker of something crosses her face—not disagreement, exactly, but a tender skepticism, the kind that roots in truth too heavy to speak aloud. Her smile curves, bittersweet and slow, because she's not sure any amount of magic would ever really pull them out of each other.
As Koa uncorks the vial, Flora's breath catches. There’s a moment—a single heartbeat—where her hand twitches forward, instinct flaring like a storm tide against the pull of reason. But Jack’s fury lives vividly behind her ribs, and the wreckage this truth could leave in its wake is too vast to risk. So she swallows hard, roots her heels in restraint, and watches. Watches the way Koa’s throat moves. Watches the flicker of confusion pass through his eyes like cloud-shadow over water. Watches the emptiness where the hour had been hollow him out with gentle, unseen hands.
And still she waits.
When his eyes meet hers again—puzzled, searching, distant—she smiles like nothing inside her has changed, like she hasn’t just carved herself in half to protect the part of him that’s already gone. "I’ll talk to Jack," she says easily, picking up the initial thread of their conversation as if that's where they had left off. "Make sure nothing like what happened with Kaisel ever happens again."
The words feel strange in her mouth, like trying to speak around the shape of a memory that still clings to her teeth. But she pushes on, graceful as ever, determined not to let him see the edges fray. "It was good to see you," she adds, voice brightening, softening. "Maybe next time we can try meeting up when someone hasn't nearly died." She means it as a joke. It even sounds like one. But her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
And as silence settles again, she lets it linger for a breath too long. Her gaze drifts across his face, memorising what he no longer remembers—where he stood when he took the vial, the way the light haloed his hair, the shape of his fingers still curled loosely in the ghost of hers. Finally, Flora nods, lashes lowering as if to veil something too fragile to share. "Come on," she says gently. "I’ll walk you back to the Skyport." And with that, she turns—not away from him—but toward the path they’ll take together, for a little while longer, at least.
~FIN
As she rises, the glade seems to hold its breath with her. "I hope you do too," she murmurs, the words drifting like the hush of wind in the trees, delicate and sincere. "That something eases. That you walk away from this lighter, even if you don’t know why, and that it...stays." But when he speaks of letting go right, her movement stills. A flicker of something crosses her face—not disagreement, exactly, but a tender skepticism, the kind that roots in truth too heavy to speak aloud. Her smile curves, bittersweet and slow, because she's not sure any amount of magic would ever really pull them out of each other.
As Koa uncorks the vial, Flora's breath catches. There’s a moment—a single heartbeat—where her hand twitches forward, instinct flaring like a storm tide against the pull of reason. But Jack’s fury lives vividly behind her ribs, and the wreckage this truth could leave in its wake is too vast to risk. So she swallows hard, roots her heels in restraint, and watches. Watches the way Koa’s throat moves. Watches the flicker of confusion pass through his eyes like cloud-shadow over water. Watches the emptiness where the hour had been hollow him out with gentle, unseen hands.
And still she waits.
When his eyes meet hers again—puzzled, searching, distant—she smiles like nothing inside her has changed, like she hasn’t just carved herself in half to protect the part of him that’s already gone. "I’ll talk to Jack," she says easily, picking up the initial thread of their conversation as if that's where they had left off. "Make sure nothing like what happened with Kaisel ever happens again."
The words feel strange in her mouth, like trying to speak around the shape of a memory that still clings to her teeth. But she pushes on, graceful as ever, determined not to let him see the edges fray. "It was good to see you," she adds, voice brightening, softening. "Maybe next time we can try meeting up when someone hasn't nearly died." She means it as a joke. It even sounds like one. But her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
And as silence settles again, she lets it linger for a breath too long. Her gaze drifts across his face, memorising what he no longer remembers—where he stood when he took the vial, the way the light haloed his hair, the shape of his fingers still curled loosely in the ghost of hers. Finally, Flora nods, lashes lowering as if to veil something too fragile to share. "Come on," she says gently. "I’ll walk you back to the Skyport." And with that, she turns—not away from him—but toward the path they’ll take together, for a little while longer, at least.
~FIN
