flora
Flora tips her head at Damien, a smirk curving her mouth as one brow arches high. "What do you mean? Didn’t it look like I had it all under control?" she teases, voice warm and bright as if she hadn’t just wrestled a family of raccoons out the door. Spice chitters smug agreement from her shoulder, little chest puffed like she’d done all the work.
Her attention swings back toTheea, and the grin softens into something more adoring as her nose wrinkles. "Windchimes," she announces without hesitation, already moving to the bundle of driftwood and shells. Her hands linger over the pieces with reverence, as if they hum with old memory. "I remember Vai teaching me how to make these," she murmurs, almost to herself, but loud enough for Theea to hear, a thread of shared history woven into her tone.
She gathers the chimes with careful fingers, gold glinting at her wrists and ears as she enlists Spice’s help, the little dragon darting up to steady and hold while Flora ties the cords in place. Together they string the porch with song—seaglass and shell catching the sunlight, driftwood clacking gently as the breeze slips through. She chooses each spot with care, high enough to avoid curious hands or careless shoulders, but low enough that the wind will always find them. When the first soft notes stir, Flora leans back against the railing, curls lifting in the salt air, and grins at her cousin as if to say: see? Home already.
Flora picks windchimes!
Her attention swings back to
She gathers the chimes with careful fingers, gold glinting at her wrists and ears as she enlists Spice’s help, the little dragon darting up to steady and hold while Flora ties the cords in place. Together they string the porch with song—seaglass and shell catching the sunlight, driftwood clacking gently as the breeze slips through. She chooses each spot with care, high enough to avoid curious hands or careless shoulders, but low enough that the wind will always find them. When the first soft notes stir, Flora leans back against the railing, curls lifting in the salt air, and grins at her cousin as if to say: see? Home already.
Flora picks windchimes!
We need love, But all we want is danger
We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
We team up, Then switch sides like a record changer
