you don't know that you're living 'til you're carrying scars
Flora’s grin is instant, brilliant, and just a little smug. "Remi makes all his gin from the water there," she says with a playful lift of her brows, before squeezing Sohalia’s hand in return, anchoring the moment like a promise. "Yes," she says, soft but sure. "We’ll go. After the masquerade maybe? Before it gets too cold. Just us, the Sugartide, and a map waiting to be drawn."
Bouncing her brows with a flourish of dramatic flair, she gently tugs Soh along, their hands still twined as their steps carry them down the shoreline. The waves roll in lazy rhythms beside them, and the beach stretches out like the beginning of something new—wide, wild, and waiting. And with sunlight on their backs and plans in their pockets, Flora and Sohalia stroll into the distance, laughter trailing like ribbon through the sea breeze.
~FIN
Bouncing her brows with a flourish of dramatic flair, she gently tugs Soh along, their hands still twined as their steps carry them down the shoreline. The waves roll in lazy rhythms beside them, and the beach stretches out like the beginning of something new—wide, wild, and waiting. And with sunlight on their backs and plans in their pockets, Flora and Sohalia stroll into the distance, laughter trailing like ribbon through the sea breeze.
~FIN
you're either falling in love or you're falling apart
