flora
Flora wrinkles her nose delicately as Neron explains the structure of the Storm Guard, her expression folding into something caught between feigned horror and genuine disinterest. "That all sounds very strict," she says, voice lilting with mock severity as her brows lift, lips pursing ever so slightly. But as his tone turns to scandal and marriage, her whole face lights up again, and her brow arches high with delighted disbelief.
"Wait. Wait." Her jaw drops in theatrical slow-motion as if the words alone require a moment of stunned silence. "He had two wives? At the same time?" Her grin is unrepentant as she leans in like someone gathering gossip across a velvet chaise. "See, that’s the kind of drama we need more of in Caido. These days, it’s always someone almost dying or actually dying, and the whole thing’s just exhausting." She lets out an exaggerated huff, fluttering her fingers in the air as if to physically push the memory of recent chaos aside.
Grinning at him sidelong, her tone slips back into something softer, more curious but still light at the edges. "Once I’ve got my twin sorted," she says casually, as if the resurrection of a soul were just another item on her list of seasonal goals, "maybe I’ll see if there’s a way to relax things on your end a little. If I can’t get you all the way through, maybe there’s something we can do to make sure your presence gets felt properly." Her eyes gleam as she adds with a wicked smile, "If the world’s going to be short on scandal, maybe you can be the drama it’s lacking."
She’s absolutely preening beneath the glow of his attention, delighted by the way he listens; no interruptions, no sidelong glances at the door or distractions from the moment. Just that cool, unwavering gaze and every reaction landing with exactly the right amount of theatrical indulgence. "I am," she confirms brightly, chin lifting with that unmistakable flair of a girl who’s fought for her crown and keeps it polished.
Her eyes drift over him, taking in the sharp cut of his clothing and the ink-dark fabric that fits him like a glove. Chuckling low in her throat, she shakes her head. "If you’d shown up dressed any better, you’d have made me look underdressed," she teases, reaching to tug at the hem of her sweater dress with mock disapproval before settling back into her seat.
Then, tilting her head to the side, her tone slips into something more thoughtful, still light but laced with curiosity. "I wonder," she muses aloud, "if we went shopping, would you be able to bring anything back with you? Like...could you just walk out of here in a brand new outfit and saunter back into the afterlife with it, do you think?"
"Wait. Wait." Her jaw drops in theatrical slow-motion as if the words alone require a moment of stunned silence. "He had two wives? At the same time?" Her grin is unrepentant as she leans in like someone gathering gossip across a velvet chaise. "See, that’s the kind of drama we need more of in Caido. These days, it’s always someone almost dying or actually dying, and the whole thing’s just exhausting." She lets out an exaggerated huff, fluttering her fingers in the air as if to physically push the memory of recent chaos aside.
Grinning at him sidelong, her tone slips back into something softer, more curious but still light at the edges. "Once I’ve got my twin sorted," she says casually, as if the resurrection of a soul were just another item on her list of seasonal goals, "maybe I’ll see if there’s a way to relax things on your end a little. If I can’t get you all the way through, maybe there’s something we can do to make sure your presence gets felt properly." Her eyes gleam as she adds with a wicked smile, "If the world’s going to be short on scandal, maybe you can be the drama it’s lacking."
She’s absolutely preening beneath the glow of his attention, delighted by the way he listens; no interruptions, no sidelong glances at the door or distractions from the moment. Just that cool, unwavering gaze and every reaction landing with exactly the right amount of theatrical indulgence. "I am," she confirms brightly, chin lifting with that unmistakable flair of a girl who’s fought for her crown and keeps it polished.
Her eyes drift over him, taking in the sharp cut of his clothing and the ink-dark fabric that fits him like a glove. Chuckling low in her throat, she shakes her head. "If you’d shown up dressed any better, you’d have made me look underdressed," she teases, reaching to tug at the hem of her sweater dress with mock disapproval before settling back into her seat.
Then, tilting her head to the side, her tone slips into something more thoughtful, still light but laced with curiosity. "I wonder," she muses aloud, "if we went shopping, would you be able to bring anything back with you? Like...could you just walk out of here in a brand new outfit and saunter back into the afterlife with it, do you think?"
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
