flora
Flora can’t help the gleeful laugh that bursts from her as Soh moves—fluid and focused, like she was born with the staff in her hands and something to prove in her bones. One dagger clatters to the side, the other misses harmlessly, but neither finds their mark, and that’s what matters. "Godsdamn, get it babe!" she crows, spinning to recall the daggers with a sharp, sweeping motion. They return like golden birds called back to roost, and she catches them easily, brushing windblown curls from her forehead with the back of one hand.
"Alright," she says, grinning as she draws her third dagger from the sheath at her thigh and waggles it in the air like a magician about to pull off a particularly sparkly trick. 'Now all three." Taking a few quick steps back to widen the range, she lets the wind rush around them like an audience holding its breath. And then—flick, flick, flick—Flora throws.
Three daggers, one after the other, their arcs staggered but relentless.
4/4
"Alright," she says, grinning as she draws her third dagger from the sheath at her thigh and waggles it in the air like a magician about to pull off a particularly sparkly trick. 'Now all three." Taking a few quick steps back to widen the range, she lets the wind rush around them like an audience holding its breath. And then—flick, flick, flick—Flora throws.
Three daggers, one after the other, their arcs staggered but relentless.
4/4
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
