flora
As Kaisel’s pinky hooks around hers, Flora’s smile comes slowly, worn and soft at the edges, a fragile thing not unlike the tether between them. It reminds her so much of the House of Midnight, the way they couldn’t look at each other that night, the way he’d reached out with his foot to touch hers when even words had felt impossible. She’d clung to it then, and she clings to it now, even though the glittering fabric between them is bunched and twisted, even though her heart feels like it's pressing too hard against the confines of her chest.
There’s no part of her that can even remotely say she’s set down her feelings for Jack, not when she hadn’t even found the courage to look him in the eye and say goodbye properly. She’d chosen the coward’s path instead, sending a letter off with a raven and fleeing from the consequences of what she couldn’t say aloud. It had only been a few weeks since, and that kind of love—the long, storm-weathered kind that spanned years and scars and silences—didn’t just extinguish itself on command. She wishes, desperately, that she could make Kaisel understand that this isn't a reflection of anything missing between them, but proof of what her heart is capable of. That the kind of love she feels doesn't vanish the moment something new appears; that when she loves, she does it deeply, irreversibly. That someday, if they ever found themselves fractured, he wouldn’t be so easily cast aside either.
But there are no words that can convey the shape of that. Not now, not like this, not when he’s folding in on himself in the shimmering gown, knees pulled up and arms wrapped tight, her heart breaking anew to see that her pain has become his too. The tears that spill down her cheeks are no longer just for Jack, or for the part of her that still aches in his absence, they are for Kaisel as well. For the man who has done nothing but try to hold her steady, and who she keeps knocking down anyway. Because it isn’t about Jack, not really. It’s about knowing that she hurt someone so deeply they would rather abandon everything than be near her again. It’s about wondering how long it will take before Kaisel feels the same, before he too finds it unbearable to be in her orbit, before the weight of what she carries becomes too much for him to hold. It's the second time in as many weeks that she's reduced him to the ground like this, and gods she can only hate herself for being the thief of his joy over and over again.
Swallowing against the knot in her throat, Flora shifts forward, legs slipping to either side of his where he’s folded on the floor, her forehead coming to rest against the curve of his hands where they clasp around his knees. "I shouldn’t have said anything," she murmurs, the words sincere, not just a reflexive retreat. Silently she wonders what she’d been thinking, saying any of this aloud, forgetting, foolishly, that unlike Jack, Kaisel couldn’t read her mind. That not every thought needed to be given breath and space, not when it would only wound him to hear it.
The tears that drip from her lashes fall onto the tops of his bare feet, leaving tiny, trembling stars of salt against his skin, and in a voice barely louder than a breath, Flora sniffs and says, "I’m sorry," the words small, her voice stripped and hollow. She swears then, not aloud but somewhere deep behind her ribs where guilt tends to bury its roots, that she will never speak of Jack again. Not to Sohalia, who had already endured season after season of every painful hiccup and stutter between them, nor to Kaisel, for whom Jack's name had become an especially intimate sort of weapon. She would tuck it away, keep it locked behind her teeth even when it pressed like splinters against her tongue, and maybe, in time, without oxygen, the flame would wither. Maybe it would smother on its own rather than festering until it rotted her from the inside out. And if it didn’t—if it clung and cloyed and continued to ache—at least this way, the only person it would go on hurting was her. Which, if she were being honest, might be exactly what she deserved.
There’s no part of her that can even remotely say she’s set down her feelings for Jack, not when she hadn’t even found the courage to look him in the eye and say goodbye properly. She’d chosen the coward’s path instead, sending a letter off with a raven and fleeing from the consequences of what she couldn’t say aloud. It had only been a few weeks since, and that kind of love—the long, storm-weathered kind that spanned years and scars and silences—didn’t just extinguish itself on command. She wishes, desperately, that she could make Kaisel understand that this isn't a reflection of anything missing between them, but proof of what her heart is capable of. That the kind of love she feels doesn't vanish the moment something new appears; that when she loves, she does it deeply, irreversibly. That someday, if they ever found themselves fractured, he wouldn’t be so easily cast aside either.
But there are no words that can convey the shape of that. Not now, not like this, not when he’s folding in on himself in the shimmering gown, knees pulled up and arms wrapped tight, her heart breaking anew to see that her pain has become his too. The tears that spill down her cheeks are no longer just for Jack, or for the part of her that still aches in his absence, they are for Kaisel as well. For the man who has done nothing but try to hold her steady, and who she keeps knocking down anyway. Because it isn’t about Jack, not really. It’s about knowing that she hurt someone so deeply they would rather abandon everything than be near her again. It’s about wondering how long it will take before Kaisel feels the same, before he too finds it unbearable to be in her orbit, before the weight of what she carries becomes too much for him to hold. It's the second time in as many weeks that she's reduced him to the ground like this, and gods she can only hate herself for being the thief of his joy over and over again.
Swallowing against the knot in her throat, Flora shifts forward, legs slipping to either side of his where he’s folded on the floor, her forehead coming to rest against the curve of his hands where they clasp around his knees. "I shouldn’t have said anything," she murmurs, the words sincere, not just a reflexive retreat. Silently she wonders what she’d been thinking, saying any of this aloud, forgetting, foolishly, that unlike Jack, Kaisel couldn’t read her mind. That not every thought needed to be given breath and space, not when it would only wound him to hear it.
The tears that drip from her lashes fall onto the tops of his bare feet, leaving tiny, trembling stars of salt against his skin, and in a voice barely louder than a breath, Flora sniffs and says, "I’m sorry," the words small, her voice stripped and hollow. She swears then, not aloud but somewhere deep behind her ribs where guilt tends to bury its roots, that she will never speak of Jack again. Not to Sohalia, who had already endured season after season of every painful hiccup and stutter between them, nor to Kaisel, for whom Jack's name had become an especially intimate sort of weapon. She would tuck it away, keep it locked behind her teeth even when it pressed like splinters against her tongue, and maybe, in time, without oxygen, the flame would wither. Maybe it would smother on its own rather than festering until it rotted her from the inside out. And if it didn’t—if it clung and cloyed and continued to ache—at least this way, the only person it would go on hurting was her. Which, if she were being honest, might be exactly what she deserved.
lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all
it isn't what you and I are at all
