flora
"KAI—ZEL!" Flora bellows, dragging the syllables out like a battle cry, the Z slicing the air with the kind of theatrical menace only she can conjure. It isn’t just a shout, it’s a reckoning, and the gleam in her eyes says she’s only just getting started.
As he flails beneath her, all limbs and chaos, she moves with precision born from mischief and murder, twisting her legs around his like a vine curling into place. Her feet hook beneath his calves, thighs clamping like a vice against his floundering escape, and it just so happens that it coincides perfectly with the moment he bucks up beneath her—an ungraceful, ill-timed rebellion that only serves to toss her forward.
Thrown by the jolt, Flora plants her palm beside his head with a sharp thump, her curls falling around them like a golden curtain, wild and static-tinged and glowing in the flickering fort-light. She’s panting now, but the kind of breathless that comes from living too brightly, not slowing down. Her chest rises and falls above his, close enough to graze, but there’s no retreat in her posture—only glittering, victorious defiance.
"You were in charge of the roof," she hisses, eyes wide with mock betrayal. "There shouldn't have even BEEN a hole," she punctuates, lowering her face a touch closer with every word. Despite the ferocity, the edges of her grin are curling again, breath still shaky from laughter, the pillow temporarily abandoned behind her like a discarded royal sceptre.
As he flails beneath her, all limbs and chaos, she moves with precision born from mischief and murder, twisting her legs around his like a vine curling into place. Her feet hook beneath his calves, thighs clamping like a vice against his floundering escape, and it just so happens that it coincides perfectly with the moment he bucks up beneath her—an ungraceful, ill-timed rebellion that only serves to toss her forward.
Thrown by the jolt, Flora plants her palm beside his head with a sharp thump, her curls falling around them like a golden curtain, wild and static-tinged and glowing in the flickering fort-light. She’s panting now, but the kind of breathless that comes from living too brightly, not slowing down. Her chest rises and falls above his, close enough to graze, but there’s no retreat in her posture—only glittering, victorious defiance.
"You were in charge of the roof," she hisses, eyes wide with mock betrayal. "There shouldn't have even BEEN a hole," she punctuates, lowering her face a touch closer with every word. Despite the ferocity, the edges of her grin are curling again, breath still shaky from laughter, the pillow temporarily abandoned behind her like a discarded royal sceptre.
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
