flora
Flora flashes him a grin, all wide eyes and faux innocence as she lifts her mug between them like a toast she doesn’t quite make. "A girl’s gotta have her secrets," she murmurs with a sparkle that suggests at least a few of them wear veils and jingle when they walk.
At his concession—if you could call it that—she wrinkles her nose in playful triumph, shaking her head as though it were already far, far too late to stop the idea now, which it absolutely was. Not only had the cane-summoning ring taken root in her mind, but it had already started to bloom.
Her gaze drifts out to the storm-lit window, where the sky still broods, thick and heavy and more midnight than morning. The walls don’t creak, but she feels the pressure of the rain in her bones anyway, the way Torchline storms settle into your ribs and refuse to leave until they’ve wrung out every last ghost. Taking another sip of her tea, she lowers it just enough to speak over the rim. "Do you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep?"
At his concession—if you could call it that—she wrinkles her nose in playful triumph, shaking her head as though it were already far, far too late to stop the idea now, which it absolutely was. Not only had the cane-summoning ring taken root in her mind, but it had already started to bloom.
Her gaze drifts out to the storm-lit window, where the sky still broods, thick and heavy and more midnight than morning. The walls don’t creak, but she feels the pressure of the rain in her bones anyway, the way Torchline storms settle into your ribs and refuse to leave until they’ve wrung out every last ghost. Taking another sip of her tea, she lowers it just enough to speak over the rim. "Do you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep?"
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
