flora
Flora laughs, the sound low and sun-warmed, as she tips her spoon toward him. "Didn’t seem worth fighting you for it," she says, aqua eyes glittering over the rim of her glass. And then comes the cherry.
She could have leaned in, could’ve taken it with her teeth like some breathless tavern girl in a cheap story. But this isn’t that kind of night. Instead, she holds his gaze as she lifts her fingers—slower than necessary, featherlight where they brush against his hand—and plucks the cherry from between them. It’s nothing overt, but the red does kiss her lips like a secret, and when she slides it into her mouth, her smile turns knowing. "I do look good in corsets,”" she says, tone offhand but eyes wicked. "I own at least four. One of them glows in the dark. Don’t ask." The last time she'd worn one, in fact, two ancients had peeled it off her.
The sigh that follows is all mock-tragedy, her shoulders rising with theatrical resignation. "But since I’m not dressed properly tonight," she says, tapping her spoon against the dish, "I guess you’ll just have to wait."
She leans in slightly, like sharing a decadent secret. "There’s a brothel in King’s End," she murmurs, "blessed by Frey. The rooms cater to your every whim. Whatever you want, however you want it, and the staff are very good at their jobs." Her lips curve. "There’s also a room in the Grounds where nothing inside stays permanent once the door you go through opens again." With a flick of her spoon, she scoops another bite of chocolate and melts it across her tongue before adding lightly, "Maybe next time you’re invited through, you can see what sorts of things on your list those places can check off."
She could have leaned in, could’ve taken it with her teeth like some breathless tavern girl in a cheap story. But this isn’t that kind of night. Instead, she holds his gaze as she lifts her fingers—slower than necessary, featherlight where they brush against his hand—and plucks the cherry from between them. It’s nothing overt, but the red does kiss her lips like a secret, and when she slides it into her mouth, her smile turns knowing. "I do look good in corsets,”" she says, tone offhand but eyes wicked. "I own at least four. One of them glows in the dark. Don’t ask." The last time she'd worn one, in fact, two ancients had peeled it off her.
The sigh that follows is all mock-tragedy, her shoulders rising with theatrical resignation. "But since I’m not dressed properly tonight," she says, tapping her spoon against the dish, "I guess you’ll just have to wait."
She leans in slightly, like sharing a decadent secret. "There’s a brothel in King’s End," she murmurs, "blessed by Frey. The rooms cater to your every whim. Whatever you want, however you want it, and the staff are very good at their jobs." Her lips curve. "There’s also a room in the Grounds where nothing inside stays permanent once the door you go through opens again." With a flick of her spoon, she scoops another bite of chocolate and melts it across her tongue before adding lightly, "Maybe next time you’re invited through, you can see what sorts of things on your list those places can check off."
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
