& if you never bleed you're never gonna grow
Flora’s grin is radiant, proud in a way that crinkles the corners of her aqua eyes as she watches the pineapple split clean. She hadn’t cared one way or another if Theea missed—failure was half the fun of learning—but the smooth reflex, the way her cousin’s body remembered when her mind didn’t, leaves Flora beaming like she’d known it all along. "Now that’s muscle memory," she says with an approving nod, golden bracelets chiming faintly as she gestures to the neat slice of fruit still dripping against the trunk.
At Theea’s next words, Flora lets out a sudden, melodic laugh, glancing down at her own chest with a rueful shake of her curls. Not quite as generous as Theea’s, her figure carries the leaner lines of someone who forces themselves up at the crack of dawn every day to run, but her understanding is absolute. "Oh, believe me—I get it. There's always something ready to cause an issue. Sometimes I train in gowns or even fully naked. You never know what you’ll be wearing when the moment hits, so you may as well make it all work for you."
Without warning she slips two daggers into her palms, the steel flashing quick as sunlight on water. She exhales as she throws, breath steady and flowing with each flick of her wrist—one, two—both blades sinking into the tree a hair’s breadth apart. They vanish a blink later, shimmer-swift back into her hands. Flora holds them out toward Theea, curls tumbling forward with the movement, her grin sharp with challenge. "Here. Let’s see you try three at once."
4/4
At Theea’s next words, Flora lets out a sudden, melodic laugh, glancing down at her own chest with a rueful shake of her curls. Not quite as generous as Theea’s, her figure carries the leaner lines of someone who forces themselves up at the crack of dawn every day to run, but her understanding is absolute. "Oh, believe me—I get it. There's always something ready to cause an issue. Sometimes I train in gowns or even fully naked. You never know what you’ll be wearing when the moment hits, so you may as well make it all work for you."
Without warning she slips two daggers into her palms, the steel flashing quick as sunlight on water. She exhales as she throws, breath steady and flowing with each flick of her wrist—one, two—both blades sinking into the tree a hair’s breadth apart. They vanish a blink later, shimmer-swift back into her hands. Flora holds them out toward Theea, curls tumbling forward with the movement, her grin sharp with challenge. "Here. Let’s see you try three at once."
4/4
