yeah I got heartbreak that I reminisce about
Flora only blinks at him at first, uncomprehending. Fell asleep? On her ship? Without her noticing? Her mind snags on the impossibility of it, tugging at loose threads of explanation until her chin tilts skyward, eyes narrowing against the endless blue. No sign of Spice, and in that absence, a thought curls sharp and suspicious: did she know? Did Spice, wicked little thing, decide to keep his secret and watch instead of warning?
But then the world ruptures, horns catching sunlight like curved blades as the alpina barrels from the wildflowers. Its wool gleams impossibly clean, like a cloud given muscle, and it slams into Kaisel with the blunt insistence of a mountain deciding to move. Once, she might have doubled over laughing; might have called it divine justice, karma dressed in fleece, and tossed his own words back at him just to watch his grin flare like summer lightning. Once, the sight of him grappling with a sheep would have been enough to unravel the ache between them.
But she doesn’t live in that once anymore. Every silence he’s left her with has been folded and refolded until it cuts across her fingers. Every letter re-read in her mind until the words had blurred and taken on new meanings. His absence has become a storm she carries, and not even the ridiculousness of a magical sheep can tear through it.
She rises slowly, petals bowing beneath her as a frown roots deep into her expression. No laughter, no teasing, none of the easy levity he once drew from her. Then Spice comes in a streak of white, frost at her throat and fury in her wings, spitting shards of ice until the alpina stumbles off in a bleating retreat. The flowers swallow it whole, closing again as if the interruption had been no more than a ripple in a dream, leaving Flora to stand in the sea of flowers, her heart a knotted tangle of hurt that not even wool, frost, or absurdity can undo.
Flora’s arms cross tightly over her chest, sweater sleeves swallowing her wrists, as her gaze returns back to the dragoon. Her aqua eyes harden, the earlier bewilderment freezing into a sharpness she can actually wield. "What part," she asks, voice low but barbed, "of I don’t want to see you did you interpret as please, stow away on my ship and make yourself comfortable?" Her stare doesn’t waver, not even when her chest clenches around the sight of him standing there; out of place, impossible, and still somehow exactly where her heart had been afraid he’d appear. "Which, weird and creepy to think you were like, what? just under my bed?"
But then the world ruptures, horns catching sunlight like curved blades as the alpina barrels from the wildflowers. Its wool gleams impossibly clean, like a cloud given muscle, and it slams into Kaisel with the blunt insistence of a mountain deciding to move. Once, she might have doubled over laughing; might have called it divine justice, karma dressed in fleece, and tossed his own words back at him just to watch his grin flare like summer lightning. Once, the sight of him grappling with a sheep would have been enough to unravel the ache between them.
But she doesn’t live in that once anymore. Every silence he’s left her with has been folded and refolded until it cuts across her fingers. Every letter re-read in her mind until the words had blurred and taken on new meanings. His absence has become a storm she carries, and not even the ridiculousness of a magical sheep can tear through it.
She rises slowly, petals bowing beneath her as a frown roots deep into her expression. No laughter, no teasing, none of the easy levity he once drew from her. Then Spice comes in a streak of white, frost at her throat and fury in her wings, spitting shards of ice until the alpina stumbles off in a bleating retreat. The flowers swallow it whole, closing again as if the interruption had been no more than a ripple in a dream, leaving Flora to stand in the sea of flowers, her heart a knotted tangle of hurt that not even wool, frost, or absurdity can undo.
Flora’s arms cross tightly over her chest, sweater sleeves swallowing her wrists, as her gaze returns back to the dragoon. Her aqua eyes harden, the earlier bewilderment freezing into a sharpness she can actually wield. "What part," she asks, voice low but barbed, "of I don’t want to see you did you interpret as please, stow away on my ship and make yourself comfortable?" Her stare doesn’t waver, not even when her chest clenches around the sight of him standing there; out of place, impossible, and still somehow exactly where her heart had been afraid he’d appear. "Which, weird and creepy to think you were like, what? just under my bed?"
real big things I still gotta figure out
