flora
Flora entwines her fingers with Enzo ’s, their footsteps scattering sand like pale, drifting stardust while the surf hums its quiet applause beneath the music farther up the beach. When the murmur of onlookers fades enough that only hel cries and jasmine perfume remain, she releases his hand only to whirl in a silken arc before him, the living garden of her gown flowering outward in a slow, moonlit spiral that paints violet shadows across his bare feet and the smooth tan of his ankles.
The sight of him steals her breath in the gentlest way—that familiar tilt of his brows, the mischievous gleam that kindles green fire in eyes more vivid than any bottle glass, the wind—teased curls tumbling across his brow in an echo of the boy she raced through Greatwood treetops with and the young man she mourned in quiet seasons after moss‑cooled dusk. Rising onto the balls of her feet, she cups his jaw and drifts soft, lingering kisses along the curve of each cheek, feather‑light benedictions that tremble with joy beneath the lantern glow.
"You would not believe the circus this year has been without you," she murmurs against his skin, her lips curving with laughter that glitters like surf in starlight yet carries an old ache beneath its sparkle. "The Family, Jack dumping me, nearly dying again, being friendzoned by some boy—utterly ridiculous, and all missing your commentary." She draws back only far enough to let their gazes meet, her thumbs brushing along the faint dimple that threatens whenever mischief stirs in him. "But, I’m closer than ever to bringing you back for good, so you can experience all the nonsense first hand."
The sight of him steals her breath in the gentlest way—that familiar tilt of his brows, the mischievous gleam that kindles green fire in eyes more vivid than any bottle glass, the wind—teased curls tumbling across his brow in an echo of the boy she raced through Greatwood treetops with and the young man she mourned in quiet seasons after moss‑cooled dusk. Rising onto the balls of her feet, she cups his jaw and drifts soft, lingering kisses along the curve of each cheek, feather‑light benedictions that tremble with joy beneath the lantern glow.
"You would not believe the circus this year has been without you," she murmurs against his skin, her lips curving with laughter that glitters like surf in starlight yet carries an old ache beneath its sparkle. "The Family, Jack dumping me, nearly dying again, being friendzoned by some boy—utterly ridiculous, and all missing your commentary." She draws back only far enough to let their gazes meet, her thumbs brushing along the faint dimple that threatens whenever mischief stirs in him. "But, I’m closer than ever to bringing you back for good, so you can experience all the nonsense first hand."
you'r under the feeling like teenagers in cars
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
