flora
A soft snort escapes Flora, wineglass cradled loosely in one hand as she grins. Whatever complexity exists between her and Ronin—whatever slow work it’s taken to build something resembling peace—Flora will never waste the chance to let someone else needle him. Especially not so elegantly. "I mean, I’m not saying you’re wrong," she murmurs, clinking her glass lightly against his with a sparkle in her eyes.
Her grin deepens as he paints the ghost of another life, a version of himself locked in a dull marriage and living for the next formal dinner. "Well, at least the parties here are fabulous," she says with an airy shrug, curls bouncing as her head tilts slightly to the side. "Or, you know, mine are."
She punctuates it with a sip of wine, pleased with her own little flourish, before laughing again as Neron mentions his lack of sweat. "That does make sense. One of the perks of being dead, I guess, no laundry."
But then the banter falters, just a little. The air turns softer as Neron’s smile tilts and her own follows, slow and small. Her eyes drop to her hands curled lightly around the stem of her glass, and for a moment, the firelight on her skin seems warmer than usual, like it’s trying to comfort her through the words she’s choosing. "Ah," she says first, breath curling faintly with the syllable before she glances up at him again. "Last time I saw Vai...gods, it was months ago. I was miserable. Everything felt like it was falling apart, and I—" She huffs softly, shaking her head. "I did ask her to find me a prince charming."
And then, with a crooked smile and a lopsided smirk, she lifts her gaze fully. "Funny that she picked you. I mean...I was kind of smitten the first time I met you actually." Her grin grows, coloured with nostalgia. “"That night in the Grounds, you conjured an ice flower to save my tongue after I burned it on my cider, remember? I swear that whole memory got folded into some fairytale in my head for like, weeks after."
The sigh she releases after is small and real, lips pressing briefly together before she clears her throat. "Since then, though—since Vai, I mean—I’ve started seeing someone." Her voice stays soft, but her eyes are steady as they meet his. "I don’t think time moves the same for you up there, so maybe Vai didn't know." There’s no defensiveness in her tone, no guilt either—just honesty, tinged with the kind of wistful affection reserved for things that might have been, once, in another life.
Her grin deepens as he paints the ghost of another life, a version of himself locked in a dull marriage and living for the next formal dinner. "Well, at least the parties here are fabulous," she says with an airy shrug, curls bouncing as her head tilts slightly to the side. "Or, you know, mine are."
She punctuates it with a sip of wine, pleased with her own little flourish, before laughing again as Neron mentions his lack of sweat. "That does make sense. One of the perks of being dead, I guess, no laundry."
But then the banter falters, just a little. The air turns softer as Neron’s smile tilts and her own follows, slow and small. Her eyes drop to her hands curled lightly around the stem of her glass, and for a moment, the firelight on her skin seems warmer than usual, like it’s trying to comfort her through the words she’s choosing. "Ah," she says first, breath curling faintly with the syllable before she glances up at him again. "Last time I saw Vai...gods, it was months ago. I was miserable. Everything felt like it was falling apart, and I—" She huffs softly, shaking her head. "I did ask her to find me a prince charming."
And then, with a crooked smile and a lopsided smirk, she lifts her gaze fully. "Funny that she picked you. I mean...I was kind of smitten the first time I met you actually." Her grin grows, coloured with nostalgia. “"That night in the Grounds, you conjured an ice flower to save my tongue after I burned it on my cider, remember? I swear that whole memory got folded into some fairytale in my head for like, weeks after."
The sigh she releases after is small and real, lips pressing briefly together before she clears her throat. "Since then, though—since Vai, I mean—I’ve started seeing someone." Her voice stays soft, but her eyes are steady as they meet his. "I don’t think time moves the same for you up there, so maybe Vai didn't know." There’s no defensiveness in her tone, no guilt either—just honesty, tinged with the kind of wistful affection reserved for things that might have been, once, in another life.
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
