you don't know that you're living 'til you're carrying scars
Flora huffs out a low, rueful laugh, swirling her wine but not drinking yet. It's very likely one day she'll come to see the truth in the witch's words for herself, but in the moment it's hard to feel anything but stupid for letting her heart be sliced open again—by someone she considered such a close friend no less—so soon after having just tried to put in the final stitches from the damage both she and Jack had caused to it.
But the kiss to her curls—that does something. That quiet, simple gesture from someone who knew her before any of the thrones and titles, before the heartbreaks and declarations and impossible stakes, lands deeper than she expects. It makes her blink down at her glass, her throat tight with gratitude she can’t quite name. Vai had always made space for her messy feelings without asking her to explain them. That hadn’t changed, even in death.
So she leans into her without hesitation, resting her head gently on Vai’s shoulder, the star-jasmine brushing against the witch’s arm as Flora lets out a quiet, unguarded sigh. "I think Enzo’s advice is gonna work, like...90% of the time," she admits, voice soft now. "When I’m flying or fighting or running the city or sunbathing with too many cocktails and too little sunscreen. But it’s that last 10% that gets me. That stupid sliver of time when I’m alone, when the party’s over and the sheets are cold and it’s just me and my thoughts and all the what-ifs."
She turns her face slightly, looking up at Vai with a vulnerable kind of openness that few people get to see anymore. "What am I supposed to do then?" she asks. "When it feels like it’s all for nothing if I’m going to bed alone again. Like...I’ve built this whole world, Nonna. But sometimes it still feels like there’s a hole in the middle of it, and I keep trying to fill it with projects or parties or people, but it never really works."
Her fingers toy with the stem of her glass. "Is that just part of being grown up? Or am I doing it wrong?"
But the kiss to her curls—that does something. That quiet, simple gesture from someone who knew her before any of the thrones and titles, before the heartbreaks and declarations and impossible stakes, lands deeper than she expects. It makes her blink down at her glass, her throat tight with gratitude she can’t quite name. Vai had always made space for her messy feelings without asking her to explain them. That hadn’t changed, even in death.
So she leans into her without hesitation, resting her head gently on Vai’s shoulder, the star-jasmine brushing against the witch’s arm as Flora lets out a quiet, unguarded sigh. "I think Enzo’s advice is gonna work, like...90% of the time," she admits, voice soft now. "When I’m flying or fighting or running the city or sunbathing with too many cocktails and too little sunscreen. But it’s that last 10% that gets me. That stupid sliver of time when I’m alone, when the party’s over and the sheets are cold and it’s just me and my thoughts and all the what-ifs."
She turns her face slightly, looking up at Vai with a vulnerable kind of openness that few people get to see anymore. "What am I supposed to do then?" she asks. "When it feels like it’s all for nothing if I’m going to bed alone again. Like...I’ve built this whole world, Nonna. But sometimes it still feels like there’s a hole in the middle of it, and I keep trying to fill it with projects or parties or people, but it never really works."
Her fingers toy with the stem of her glass. "Is that just part of being grown up? Or am I doing it wrong?"
you're either falling in love or you're falling apart
