your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
The stairs creaks softly beneath her boots, the kind of sound that belongs to the Greatwood; old and wooden and too familiar to jolt her nerves. Flora’s wrapped in a long wool coat the colour of smoke and hibiscus, belted tight against the Deepfrost air, curls pinned up in a haphazard knot that still smell faintly of sea salt and citrus oil. Her gloves are tucked into one pocket, hands bare now that she’s inside, fingers trailing lightly along the curved rail as she climbs.
The Sugartide is parked neatly above in the skyport, floating like a dream she doesn’t quite feel part of at the moment. Torchline’s been...loud. Messy, lately. Too many sharp words and tangled feelings, and with Kaisel busy up in Stormbreak, she’s had far too much time to think. So Flora’s wandered home; the kind of home that still echoes with Enzo’s laughter and tastes like cold fruit and bark tea and snow caught on lashes.
Given the hour, she isn’t expecting anything to greet her when she pushes open the door, just the hush of branches and whatever constellations haven’t gotten bored of watching.
Instead, something flickers straight into her face.
"Ah—!" she gasps, the sound small and startled, the kind of breath you let out when you walk through a cobweb or someone else’s perfume clings to your cheek. Her hands fly up instinctively, batting at the air, gold rings flashing like tiny suns before she blinks and realises there’s nothing there.
No — that’s not quite true.
There was something. A shape. Soft and shimmered and gone too fast to name. Her brows knit, a small huff escaping her as she glances over her shoulder, trying to follow the path of whatever just dissolved into her.
Only then does she see her; another girl, barefoot, and circling the room like it’s a stage only she knows the choreography to. "Oh." A blink, a shift. Flora straightens, brushing invisible strands off her blouse, tone switching to polite but still tinged with amusement. "Didn’t mean to crash the performance. Your, uh—whale? Was very cute. Right up until I murdered it with my face."
The Sugartide is parked neatly above in the skyport, floating like a dream she doesn’t quite feel part of at the moment. Torchline’s been...loud. Messy, lately. Too many sharp words and tangled feelings, and with Kaisel busy up in Stormbreak, she’s had far too much time to think. So Flora’s wandered home; the kind of home that still echoes with Enzo’s laughter and tastes like cold fruit and bark tea and snow caught on lashes.
Given the hour, she isn’t expecting anything to greet her when she pushes open the door, just the hush of branches and whatever constellations haven’t gotten bored of watching.
Instead, something flickers straight into her face.
"Ah—!" she gasps, the sound small and startled, the kind of breath you let out when you walk through a cobweb or someone else’s perfume clings to your cheek. Her hands fly up instinctively, batting at the air, gold rings flashing like tiny suns before she blinks and realises there’s nothing there.
No — that’s not quite true.
There was something. A shape. Soft and shimmered and gone too fast to name. Her brows knit, a small huff escaping her as she glances over her shoulder, trying to follow the path of whatever just dissolved into her.
Only then does she see her; another girl, barefoot, and circling the room like it’s a stage only she knows the choreography to. "Oh." A blink, a shift. Flora straightens, brushing invisible strands off her blouse, tone switching to polite but still tinged with amusement. "Didn’t mean to crash the performance. Your, uh—whale? Was very cute. Right up until I murdered it with my face."
