flora
Flora watches Panacea go with polite restraint, leaning back in her chair rather than trailing after her into the bedroom. When the healer returns with the dress and cloak, her grin is instant. "That colour is gorgeous," she says warmly, eyes sweeping over the fabric with clear appreciation. At Panacea’s smirk about mischief, Flora’s brows bounce in playful agreement. "I'm so in."
She pushes her chair back and stands in a smooth motion. "Sit tight—I’ll be right back." With that, she slips out the door, crossing the sand toward the Sugartide where Spice is already circling with curious chirps. It takes a little coaxing, but soon the tiny dragon is ferrying lightweight bundles in her claws and on her back, while Flora follows with a larger armful of bags brimming with colour and shine.
When she returns, she drops the lot onto the table with a satisfied little puff of breath before fishing around in one of the smaller sacks. "You’re in luck," she says, pulling out a plain white porcelain mask and setting it down between them with a grin. "My friend Niki and I bought extras in case we messed up. Ludo’s mask is always plain white, but..." Her smile tilts into mischief. "I added dramatic lashes onto mine, and Niki shaded his with charcoal so it looked like the bones of a face."
She starts untying the other bags, spilling their contents onto the table in a glittering, ribboned, feathered heap—silks, beads, pressed flowers, tiny shells, even a few strands of gold chain. "You can keep it simple, or make it as extra as you want," she says, her tone inviting, eyes bright. "Everything here’s fair game."
She pushes her chair back and stands in a smooth motion. "Sit tight—I’ll be right back." With that, she slips out the door, crossing the sand toward the Sugartide where Spice is already circling with curious chirps. It takes a little coaxing, but soon the tiny dragon is ferrying lightweight bundles in her claws and on her back, while Flora follows with a larger armful of bags brimming with colour and shine.
When she returns, she drops the lot onto the table with a satisfied little puff of breath before fishing around in one of the smaller sacks. "You’re in luck," she says, pulling out a plain white porcelain mask and setting it down between them with a grin. "My friend Niki and I bought extras in case we messed up. Ludo’s mask is always plain white, but..." Her smile tilts into mischief. "I added dramatic lashes onto mine, and Niki shaded his with charcoal so it looked like the bones of a face."
She starts untying the other bags, spilling their contents onto the table in a glittering, ribboned, feathered heap—silks, beads, pressed flowers, tiny shells, even a few strands of gold chain. "You can keep it simple, or make it as extra as you want," she says, her tone inviting, eyes bright. "Everything here’s fair game."
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
