we show off our different scarlet letters
Flora coughs once as she steadies her breath, the ache in her ribs roaring like a flare trapped beneath her coat. But even winded, even rolling to her feet in a scramble of velvet and grit, there’s a gleam in her eye that borders on delight. She tosses Asta a look sharp enough to cut through the smoke still curling in the air. "Are you?" she throws back, darkly sweet and breathless, her brows lifting in mock suspicion. "Because from what Danta said..." She trails off with a little twist of her lips, as if daring him to prove the warning wrong.
But then he begins to shift, and gods, it’s like watching a storybook nightmare turn the page.
She only has to look once—really look—to feel her stomach twist and her muscles coil. He stretches into something leaner, wronger, his smile pulling too wide, horns branching out like skeletal branches against the dimming sky. Shadows bloom beside him like a chorus of mockeries, grinning and hollow-eyed, a gallery of ghouls in his image.
Flora's hands move in a blur, twisting two daggers so they gleam outward, their curved points aimed not at him—but ready for him. If he wants to lunge, he’s welcome to. He can throw all the nightmare in the world at her, but if he closes the gap, he’ll skewer himself on her waiting blades.
"You can come as close as you like, Asta," she says, low and gleaming, her curls falling like a crown gone crooked.
4/4
But then he begins to shift, and gods, it’s like watching a storybook nightmare turn the page.
She only has to look once—really look—to feel her stomach twist and her muscles coil. He stretches into something leaner, wronger, his smile pulling too wide, horns branching out like skeletal branches against the dimming sky. Shadows bloom beside him like a chorus of mockeries, grinning and hollow-eyed, a gallery of ghouls in his image.
Flora's hands move in a blur, twisting two daggers so they gleam outward, their curved points aimed not at him—but ready for him. If he wants to lunge, he’s welcome to. He can throw all the nightmare in the world at her, but if he closes the gap, he’ll skewer himself on her waiting blades.
"You can come as close as you like, Asta," she says, low and gleaming, her curls falling like a crown gone crooked.
4/4
