candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor
Flora presses her lips together, fighting the flicker of sympathy his words stir before finally letting it slip out in the curve of a smirk. "Fiiiiiiiiine, I’ll agree with you, but we can never let them know that," she warns, eyes bright with mischief even as her tone holds that sharp edge of sincerity. Their parents may have earned a little understanding for what they’d endured, but in Flora’s book they were still meant to stand higher, to be held to standards no one else could touch. She wasn’t about to let her own cracks and life experiences soften that resolve.
With a low hum of agreement, she follows Mateo to the railing and swings herself onto the rope ladder after him, sweater pulled tight as if she might will it into armour against the slicing wind. Predictably, the complaint slips out before she can stop it: "Ugh, I hate this," she mutters, curls whipping into her mouth as she squints upward into the searingly bright sky. Spice wheels overhead, tiny against the great expanse, and Flora cups her hands to call up to her, wondering which way they were meant to go.
The dragon trills, clear and bright in the thin air, wings banking to point out a direction along the ridge. Flora sighs, already conceding the choice, and when her boots crunch down against the rock beside her brother she loops an arm through his, grumbling with no real conviction, "I change my mind. I hate it up here."
With a low hum of agreement, she follows Mateo to the railing and swings herself onto the rope ladder after him, sweater pulled tight as if she might will it into armour against the slicing wind. Predictably, the complaint slips out before she can stop it: "Ugh, I hate this," she mutters, curls whipping into her mouth as she squints upward into the searingly bright sky. Spice wheels overhead, tiny against the great expanse, and Flora cups her hands to call up to her, wondering which way they were meant to go.
The dragon trills, clear and bright in the thin air, wings banking to point out a direction along the ridge. Flora sighs, already conceding the choice, and when her boots crunch down against the rock beside her brother she loops an arm through his, grumbling with no real conviction, "I change my mind. I hate it up here."
