flora
Flora smiles, a shrug rippling off her shoulders like it’s nothing at all. “"Tell you what," she says breezily, "let me bring my twin back from Mort’s realm and then I’ll see what I can do about you." She laughs, shaking her head, curls catching the amber light. "Believe it or not, I wasn’t always this confident. Took a lot of getting knocked down and even more learning how to get back up again to be the kind of girl who just goes in for the kiss." A wry tilt of her lips follows, soft and self-aware.
Looking at him, warm and full of mischief, Flora arches a brow and lets a lopsided smirk curve into place. "But you’re probably right. And I did have a good time with you."
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no force behind it, not with the way he kisses her hand like he’s playing the lead in some romantic tragedy. "Okay, Prince Charming," she murmurs with a chuckle, slipping gracefully from the booth before he can try anything more gallant or daring.
Together, they make their way back toward the boardwalk, conversation winding down into something quieter, more golden at the edges, until, of course, the distinct figure of Remi appears up ahead, standing sentinel with arms crossed, still holding Neron’s jacket like a disapproving valet.
She turns to Neron with all the theatrical poise of a stage queen, looping him into an entirely chaste hug before brushing a polite kiss against his cheek. "Thank you for a lovely evening," she purrs, sweet as honey. And then—
"Neron?" She calls it lightly just as he's turning away, like she’s remembered something small, something harmless. But the slap that follows lands sharp across his cheek, her palm cracking against his skin with a sound that sings through the night air. Not enough to bruise. Just enough to be remembered.
Flora doesn’t wait to see his reaction, or Remi’s for that matter. She pivots on her heel with all the self-assurance of a queen leaving court, a smirk blooming bright across her face as she saunters toward home, curls bouncing, laughter trailing softly behind her like perfume.
~FIN
Looking at him, warm and full of mischief, Flora arches a brow and lets a lopsided smirk curve into place. "But you’re probably right. And I did have a good time with you."
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no force behind it, not with the way he kisses her hand like he’s playing the lead in some romantic tragedy. "Okay, Prince Charming," she murmurs with a chuckle, slipping gracefully from the booth before he can try anything more gallant or daring.
Together, they make their way back toward the boardwalk, conversation winding down into something quieter, more golden at the edges, until, of course, the distinct figure of Remi appears up ahead, standing sentinel with arms crossed, still holding Neron’s jacket like a disapproving valet.
She turns to Neron with all the theatrical poise of a stage queen, looping him into an entirely chaste hug before brushing a polite kiss against his cheek. "Thank you for a lovely evening," she purrs, sweet as honey. And then—
"Neron?" She calls it lightly just as he's turning away, like she’s remembered something small, something harmless. But the slap that follows lands sharp across his cheek, her palm cracking against his skin with a sound that sings through the night air. Not enough to bruise. Just enough to be remembered.
Flora doesn’t wait to see his reaction, or Remi’s for that matter. She pivots on her heel with all the self-assurance of a queen leaving court, a smirk blooming bright across her face as she saunters toward home, curls bouncing, laughter trailing softly behind her like perfume.
~FIN
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
