flora
A note of agreement hums up from the back of Flora’s throat, part amusement, part anticipation, before she glances at Neron with a laugh and looks quickly away again, because gods, he really was very good at this.
As he dubs it the most interesting not-date he’s ever been on, she beams, the grin slipping in like sun through salt-slick shutters. "Why thank you," she purrs, warmth brushing every syllable before mischief curls her tone. "I’m pretty sure there’d be divine consequences if someone got yanked out of Mort’s realm for the evening and ended up having a bad time." Her gaze flicks down to the glass now freshly haloed in frost, the daisy inside preserved just a little longer—, and somewhere, quiet and unexpected, a thought trickles in. Jack used to frost their glasses too, but he’d never done that for her. Huh.
The laugh that slips out is quiet, breath against the wine glass rim. "I wasn’t exactly in a position to tell you," she says lightly, narrowing her eyes in mock-concentration before deciding, "I was...17? Maybe?" Definitely not at the age where she could just tell someone like Neron Launceleyn that not only had she not been kissed, but she wanted him to be the one to change that for her.
His next words make something stir warmer in her chest, and though she knows better than to feed a flame that’ll only scorch the wrong person, Flora doesn’t look away, not minding the heat. The air between them stays golden, like sun caught in honey, like danger dressed up in charm and melted sugar. Still, her voice is light as she sighs and tuts, "Well. I suppose I can’t scold you for it. You did say you were a cad."
Then, tilting her head toward his wine glass, she adds with a wry smile, "Alright, finish your wine then and we can walk back before you get yourself into the kind of trouble I'd have to tell my nonna about."
As he dubs it the most interesting not-date he’s ever been on, she beams, the grin slipping in like sun through salt-slick shutters. "Why thank you," she purrs, warmth brushing every syllable before mischief curls her tone. "I’m pretty sure there’d be divine consequences if someone got yanked out of Mort’s realm for the evening and ended up having a bad time." Her gaze flicks down to the glass now freshly haloed in frost, the daisy inside preserved just a little longer—, and somewhere, quiet and unexpected, a thought trickles in. Jack used to frost their glasses too, but he’d never done that for her. Huh.
The laugh that slips out is quiet, breath against the wine glass rim. "I wasn’t exactly in a position to tell you," she says lightly, narrowing her eyes in mock-concentration before deciding, "I was...17? Maybe?" Definitely not at the age where she could just tell someone like Neron Launceleyn that not only had she not been kissed, but she wanted him to be the one to change that for her.
His next words make something stir warmer in her chest, and though she knows better than to feed a flame that’ll only scorch the wrong person, Flora doesn’t look away, not minding the heat. The air between them stays golden, like sun caught in honey, like danger dressed up in charm and melted sugar. Still, her voice is light as she sighs and tuts, "Well. I suppose I can’t scold you for it. You did say you were a cad."
Then, tilting her head toward his wine glass, she adds with a wry smile, "Alright, finish your wine then and we can walk back before you get yourself into the kind of trouble I'd have to tell my nonna about."
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
