you don't know that you're living 'til you're carrying scars
Time skips like a stone across tideglass waves, and though Flora knows every second with Enzo is one grain closer to goodbye, she refuses to let it dampen the effervescence fizzing through her limbs. The warmth of his fingers laced in hers, the glow of lanterns brushing the sea with golden kisses, the pulse of music threading through sand and laughter—it’s all perfect. For once, wholly, stupidly, perfect.
Which is why, with the determination of someone chasing joy like it’s a moving target, Flora drags Enzo across the sand, the hem of her flower-spun gown catching light as she goes. "Come on," she stage-whispers over her shoulder, practically bouncing as she tows him toward the tents. "You’ve gotta say hi before you disappear again, or she’ll pretend she’s not mad but then send one of her weirdly specific storms after you next year."
Their mother is radiant, of course—she always is, the very picture of poise and grace no matter who she’s talking to or how many eyes are on her—but that doesn’t stop Flora in the slightest. Without hesitation, she releases Enzo only long enough to slip her arm around Hotaru ’s slender waist, squeezing her tight enough that her floral corset creaks softly in protest.
"Moooooom," Flora breathes with a sigh as dreamy as the tide at sunset, nestling in like a spoiled cat. Her cheek rests against Hotaru’s shoulder as she lets her weight settle lazily into the embrace, utterly unbothered by whoever may be caught mid-conversation. "This is literally the best night ever." Her voice dips into a soft, adoring whisper, like it’s a secret meant only for her mother’s ears. And in that moment, nothing aches. Not the past, not the losses, not even tomorrow. Just her twin’s hand still in hers, and her mother’s warmth, and a sliver of peace carved like a seashell tucked safe beneath the tide.
Which is why, with the determination of someone chasing joy like it’s a moving target, Flora drags Enzo across the sand, the hem of her flower-spun gown catching light as she goes. "Come on," she stage-whispers over her shoulder, practically bouncing as she tows him toward the tents. "You’ve gotta say hi before you disappear again, or she’ll pretend she’s not mad but then send one of her weirdly specific storms after you next year."
Their mother is radiant, of course—she always is, the very picture of poise and grace no matter who she’s talking to or how many eyes are on her—but that doesn’t stop Flora in the slightest. Without hesitation, she releases Enzo only long enough to slip her arm around Hotaru ’s slender waist, squeezing her tight enough that her floral corset creaks softly in protest.
"Moooooom," Flora breathes with a sigh as dreamy as the tide at sunset, nestling in like a spoiled cat. Her cheek rests against Hotaru’s shoulder as she lets her weight settle lazily into the embrace, utterly unbothered by whoever may be caught mid-conversation. "This is literally the best night ever." Her voice dips into a soft, adoring whisper, like it’s a secret meant only for her mother’s ears. And in that moment, nothing aches. Not the past, not the losses, not even tomorrow. Just her twin’s hand still in hers, and her mother’s warmth, and a sliver of peace carved like a seashell tucked safe beneath the tide.
you're either falling in love or you're falling apart
