your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
Flora laughs, the sound soft, sheepish, curling around the edges like the steam off a cup of something warm. "Gods," she murmurs, lifting a hand in gentle surrender, "closest I’ve been to a starwhale in years. And of course I had to go face-first into it." Her grin follows quick on the heels of apology, white-teethed and unapologetically crooked, the kind that winks even when her mouth doesn’t.
She gives a little shrug, the gesture tugging her coat askew to reveal the gleam of layered necklaces beneath, gold winking like mischief against the soft winter dark. For a heartbeat she seems ready to pass through the space entirely—a visitor, not a fixture—feet already angling toward the next flight of stairs. But then as she's called out as being a queen by the other woman, Flora pauses mid-step, turning halfway with a breath caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. Her smile returns slower this time, more angle than sparkle. "No criticism here," she says lightly, voice smooth and bright.
Her gaze drifts upward to where the illusion dissolved, then back to the taller woman, watching her with that peculiar stillness as if she were listening not with ears, but with the bones of the Observatory itself.
"To be honest," she says, tucking a curl behind one ear, "I like to come back when I can. The Greatwood’s...quiet in its own way." Her voice dips there, wistful but not melancholy, words cradled in something warmer than nostalgia. "Also, I've got a friend who lives here but who's staying with me for Deepfrost. Thought I’d grab a few things from his place before heading back to Torchline."
Her hands find her coat pockets, fingers curling lightly inside. "Didn’t mean to interrupt," she adds, a little wry, though her eyes linger now on the woman instead of the door. "But if your sky’s taking requests, I wouldn’t say no to seeing another one of those." Her gaze a touch sad for a moment, before Flora blinks it away.
She gives a little shrug, the gesture tugging her coat askew to reveal the gleam of layered necklaces beneath, gold winking like mischief against the soft winter dark. For a heartbeat she seems ready to pass through the space entirely—a visitor, not a fixture—feet already angling toward the next flight of stairs. But then as she's called out as being a queen by the other woman, Flora pauses mid-step, turning halfway with a breath caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. Her smile returns slower this time, more angle than sparkle. "No criticism here," she says lightly, voice smooth and bright.
Her gaze drifts upward to where the illusion dissolved, then back to the taller woman, watching her with that peculiar stillness as if she were listening not with ears, but with the bones of the Observatory itself.
"To be honest," she says, tucking a curl behind one ear, "I like to come back when I can. The Greatwood’s...quiet in its own way." Her voice dips there, wistful but not melancholy, words cradled in something warmer than nostalgia. "Also, I've got a friend who lives here but who's staying with me for Deepfrost. Thought I’d grab a few things from his place before heading back to Torchline."
Her hands find her coat pockets, fingers curling lightly inside. "Didn’t mean to interrupt," she adds, a little wry, though her eyes linger now on the woman instead of the door. "But if your sky’s taking requests, I wouldn’t say no to seeing another one of those." Her gaze a touch sad for a moment, before Flora blinks it away.
