yeah I got heartbreak that I reminisce about
The Sugartide skims across the fractured air like she belongs here, sails taut and humming as Flora pushes farther into the Cordillera than she’s ever dared before. Last time the void frayed at the edges of her courage, thick and rotting as mould; now, with Rae’s lily rooted in defiance, the shadows retreat just enough to grant her passage. The air feels thinner this high, sharp against her cheeks, but it’s clean and unspoiled in a way that her soul feels like it needs as much as her lungs.
She angles the ship toward the plateau, where the mountains suddenly fall away into impossible green. The Infinity Fields stretch before her like a secret quilt stitched from every colour she’s ever known. Blooms as large as blankets ripple with the wind, petals flashing pink, gold, indigo, and shades no artist has ever dared to name. Even a rainbow would look jealous, she thinks, biting her lip around a grin as the ship drifts low enough for her to leap from the deck.
The flowers bend but don’t break beneath her bare feet, cushioning her as if they’d been waiting just for this. Flora kneels, fingers already curled around the stem of Vi’s rose, its white glow soft and steady in her palm. "You’ll like it here," she murmurs, brushing curls from her eyes as she digs a small hollow into the earth. The soil is damp, rich, and eager. Setting the rose into place, she uncorks the flask she’s carried all the way from Torchline, the water within still tasting faintly of salt and sun. She pours it slow, watching as it soaks into the ground and darkens the roots, as if the flower itself sighs into belonging.
She sits back on her heels, the hem of her wildly oversized grey sweater spilling across the grass like it doesn’t belong to her but to someone twice her size. The fabric is thin and soft, clinging faintly to the breeze, and it strikes her as strange to know there’s no one around for miles and miles to see her this way. With a sigh that unravels into the silence, Flora tips herself backward, arms spread, flopping into the field as though she might carve a snow angel into the riot of flowers instead. Petals brush her hair, her jewellery, the curve of her cheeks, and she lets herself sink into their impossible colour, a single rose now rooted among them.
Magic: Safe Passage | Can post without the Draig Cordillera without being attacked by dragons. As long as more than 50% of thread participants have this perk, those who don't won't be attacked either.
Type: Grey | Rank: Mastered | Cost: (None)
She angles the ship toward the plateau, where the mountains suddenly fall away into impossible green. The Infinity Fields stretch before her like a secret quilt stitched from every colour she’s ever known. Blooms as large as blankets ripple with the wind, petals flashing pink, gold, indigo, and shades no artist has ever dared to name. Even a rainbow would look jealous, she thinks, biting her lip around a grin as the ship drifts low enough for her to leap from the deck.
The flowers bend but don’t break beneath her bare feet, cushioning her as if they’d been waiting just for this. Flora kneels, fingers already curled around the stem of Vi’s rose, its white glow soft and steady in her palm. "You’ll like it here," she murmurs, brushing curls from her eyes as she digs a small hollow into the earth. The soil is damp, rich, and eager. Setting the rose into place, she uncorks the flask she’s carried all the way from Torchline, the water within still tasting faintly of salt and sun. She pours it slow, watching as it soaks into the ground and darkens the roots, as if the flower itself sighs into belonging.
She sits back on her heels, the hem of her wildly oversized grey sweater spilling across the grass like it doesn’t belong to her but to someone twice her size. The fabric is thin and soft, clinging faintly to the breeze, and it strikes her as strange to know there’s no one around for miles and miles to see her this way. With a sigh that unravels into the silence, Flora tips herself backward, arms spread, flopping into the field as though she might carve a snow angel into the riot of flowers instead. Petals brush her hair, her jewellery, the curve of her cheeks, and she lets herself sink into their impossible colour, a single rose now rooted among them.
Magic: Safe Passage | Can post without the Draig Cordillera without being attacked by dragons. As long as more than 50% of thread participants have this perk, those who don't won't be attacked either.
Type: Grey | Rank: Mastered | Cost: (None)
real big things I still gotta figure out
