flora
No doubt Neron will tire of it eventually, but as he mentions Northaven, Flora's mouth falls open in another unguarded O, the expression so instinctive she doesn’t even try to hide it. "Wait—wait," she says, laughter curling at the edge of her voice as she turns fully toward him, eyes bright with renewed curiosity. "Did you know my dad back then? Or Ronin?" The idea feels so absurd, so far removed from the world she knows, that she has to blink just to try and picture it.
Her eyes narrow playfully as she leans in a fraction closer, searching his face like it might give something away. But the teasing twist of his smile is answer enough, and she chuckles under her breath, her fingers brushing a curl away from her cheek as she rolls her eyes playfully.
When he gestures to the charcuterie board, she lights up instantly, nodding her agreement with an eager, "Ooh—yes please," before letting her gaze slide over the wine list once more. Her lips twitch at the description beside one of the whites—floral, bright, notes of citrus and yellow pear—and she taps it lightly with a single red nail. "That one for me."
She settles back into the booth again, the lean of her body relaxed and content as she crosses one leg over the other and lets the curve of her spine follow the gentle arc of the high-backed seat. The laughter that follows is low and indulgent, warm in her chest as she angles her gaze toward him once more. "I suppose I can’t really ask what you’ve been up to since I last saw you," she says, her tone gently dry. "Unless there's any ghost drama to hear about, in which case I'm all ears."
Her eyes narrow playfully as she leans in a fraction closer, searching his face like it might give something away. But the teasing twist of his smile is answer enough, and she chuckles under her breath, her fingers brushing a curl away from her cheek as she rolls her eyes playfully.
When he gestures to the charcuterie board, she lights up instantly, nodding her agreement with an eager, "Ooh—yes please," before letting her gaze slide over the wine list once more. Her lips twitch at the description beside one of the whites—floral, bright, notes of citrus and yellow pear—and she taps it lightly with a single red nail. "That one for me."
She settles back into the booth again, the lean of her body relaxed and content as she crosses one leg over the other and lets the curve of her spine follow the gentle arc of the high-backed seat. The laughter that follows is low and indulgent, warm in her chest as she angles her gaze toward him once more. "I suppose I can’t really ask what you’ve been up to since I last saw you," she says, her tone gently dry. "Unless there's any ghost drama to hear about, in which case I'm all ears."
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
