Flora
Flora’s grin tips sly as she lifts her chin. "Oh, I do," she says, voice velvet with promise. "The kind that leave you awake for a week, counting shadows and regretting every creak in the floorboards and making it so you can't close your eyes around mirrors." His campfire offer earns a small, thoughtful hum that sits close to her ribs; they’ve made so many plans that never found a night, and the awareness of it brushes her skin like static. Still, she nods, letting mischief soften the caution. "Yeah, sure. If you think you’re tough enough."
He tries to poke holes in her witchery and she huffs a laugh, eyes bright. "Please. How would you know anything about beauty or witch secrets?" Her mouth curves, wicked and fond. "You think ‘disgusted by frogs’ counts as a credential?"
When he straightens—competitive heat making him taller by sheer insistence—she watches it happen with a smirk that reads the posture for what it is before rolling her eyes in theatrical surrender. "I have cooked for you," she reminds him, a flicker of chocolate and dawn tugging at her smile. "Those pancakes you inhaled so fast you forgot to breathe? Ringing any bells?" She steps forward and to the side, steering them out of range of the glimmering minefield of glass before Kai’s elbows write a eulogy for the chimes. "Come on, chef."
Glancing up at him as they fall into the flow of the market, Flora hums casually. "Do you ever wish you were tall?" she asks, light as sea-wind.
He tries to poke holes in her witchery and she huffs a laugh, eyes bright. "Please. How would you know anything about beauty or witch secrets?" Her mouth curves, wicked and fond. "You think ‘disgusted by frogs’ counts as a credential?"
When he straightens—competitive heat making him taller by sheer insistence—she watches it happen with a smirk that reads the posture for what it is before rolling her eyes in theatrical surrender. "I have cooked for you," she reminds him, a flicker of chocolate and dawn tugging at her smile. "Those pancakes you inhaled so fast you forgot to breathe? Ringing any bells?" She steps forward and to the side, steering them out of range of the glimmering minefield of glass before Kai’s elbows write a eulogy for the chimes. "Come on, chef."
Glancing up at him as they fall into the flow of the market, Flora hums casually. "Do you ever wish you were tall?" she asks, light as sea-wind.
I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
Code stolen from Queen Sky
