flora
Flora chuckles, tilting her head just enough to shoot him a smirk that glitters sharper than the mirror shards scattered across the table. "What, were you jealous of the mirrors for catching Danta’s reflection? Or was it the other way around?" she teases, wrinkling her nose at him in open affection, the jab sweetened by the grin that follows. "Either way, I can't say I blame you."
Her laughter softens into a knowing little hum as Asta agrees with the lore, her curls bouncing with the nod she gives back. "You’d have liked Vai, I think," she says after a sip of her wine, her tone slipping into something fonder. "She never wasted words, always had the best teas, and she could stare straight through you if you tried to lie. Very no-nonsense."
When she leans in and finally takes a proper look at what he’s been working on, her breath catches, sharp with surprise, before tumbling into laughter. "Gods, Asta," she gushes, eyes wide and delighted. "You’ve made me look far too good. The spirits are never going to believe that’s supposed to be me." Still grinning, she shakes her head, curls falling forward as if she might hide from the flattery, though her cheeks warm visibly at the care etched into bone.
At the mention of her trip, she nods, lips curving slyly. "Mhhm. Don’t tell Mateo," she stage-whispers, leaning conspiratorially toward him, "but I think I’m better at flying the Sugartide than he is at flying La Verbena." A glint of amusement sparks in her aqua eyes as she settles back again, tugging another thread through a shard of mirror. "Anyways, how are things with you? Still feeling the season?"
Her laughter softens into a knowing little hum as Asta agrees with the lore, her curls bouncing with the nod she gives back. "You’d have liked Vai, I think," she says after a sip of her wine, her tone slipping into something fonder. "She never wasted words, always had the best teas, and she could stare straight through you if you tried to lie. Very no-nonsense."
When she leans in and finally takes a proper look at what he’s been working on, her breath catches, sharp with surprise, before tumbling into laughter. "Gods, Asta," she gushes, eyes wide and delighted. "You’ve made me look far too good. The spirits are never going to believe that’s supposed to be me." Still grinning, she shakes her head, curls falling forward as if she might hide from the flattery, though her cheeks warm visibly at the care etched into bone.
At the mention of her trip, she nods, lips curving slyly. "Mhhm. Don’t tell Mateo," she stage-whispers, leaning conspiratorially toward him, "but I think I’m better at flying the Sugartide than he is at flying La Verbena." A glint of amusement sparks in her aqua eyes as she settles back again, tugging another thread through a shard of mirror. "Anyways, how are things with you? Still feeling the season?"
you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart
you're either falling in love or falling apart
