we write out the ends on our palms, then forget to read
Flora gives her head a small shake, the last of the frost in her curls catching a glint of light before it vanishes entirely. "What would be easiest for Koa," she says, calm and unwavering, "is hearing it straight from his cousin, who actually has all the answers." Still, there's no venom in her voice, just a quiet certainty born of knowing what wounds look like when they come from the wrong people no matter how well intentioned.
As Zavien apologizes, she nods; nothing theatrical, just a simple, clean acceptance. He was a man, after all. And gods, weren’t they all prone to shoving their feet in their mouths on the regular? It might have ended then, but when Zavien slips in that one last attempt to cast himself as the wounded party, to thread justification into his apology, Flora raises a brow. "Mmm," she hums, almost gently. "I expect Kai would say exactly the same thing."
There’s no need to elaborate—no need to rehash who made the first move, who spoke out of turn, who was causing drama where there didn't need to be any. But the implication lands clear as glass: if it’s forgivable for Zavien to react when he thinks his relationship is under threat, then maybe he should extend that same grace to the man he’d cornered first.
As Zavien mentions overstepping, the Queen nods again, staff resting once more in her palm like the conversation’s shifted back into its proper realm. She doesn’t echo his nervous laughter or his dimmed smiles, she just watches him, still and composed in a way that suggests every flicker of her expression is intentional. "While we're offering up unsolicited advice, here's mine. Especially now that you're a leader," she says, voice smooth but firm, "don’t make personal fights into something political." Her brows rise slightly, her earlier comment about Torchline being stronger than Stormbreak left hanging like a loaded example between them of just what might happen if Zavien continued to take steam-room drama and turn it into something more than just an argument between friends. "I hope you can see how messy that gets."
Without another word, Flora slides a hand into the inner pocket of her sweater, the soft clink of metal barely audible before she withdraws the sleek, palm-sized compass. The etching on its surface catches the cold light just as she holds out her staff to Zavien; an offer made with clean, practiced grace and no lingering tension, though her expression remains tight-lipped.
Spice gives Sol a soft croon, brushing her white-scaled head briefly against the gold before fluttering up onto Flora’s shoulder in a swirl of wings and cold air. The little dragon coils there, watching Zavien with curious, unblinking eyes as Flora meets his gaze one last time. "Thanks for the spar," she says, the words clipped but polite. "I learned a lot." And with that, she presses her thumb against the compass and vanishes.
~FIN
As Zavien apologizes, she nods; nothing theatrical, just a simple, clean acceptance. He was a man, after all. And gods, weren’t they all prone to shoving their feet in their mouths on the regular? It might have ended then, but when Zavien slips in that one last attempt to cast himself as the wounded party, to thread justification into his apology, Flora raises a brow. "Mmm," she hums, almost gently. "I expect Kai would say exactly the same thing."
There’s no need to elaborate—no need to rehash who made the first move, who spoke out of turn, who was causing drama where there didn't need to be any. But the implication lands clear as glass: if it’s forgivable for Zavien to react when he thinks his relationship is under threat, then maybe he should extend that same grace to the man he’d cornered first.
As Zavien mentions overstepping, the Queen nods again, staff resting once more in her palm like the conversation’s shifted back into its proper realm. She doesn’t echo his nervous laughter or his dimmed smiles, she just watches him, still and composed in a way that suggests every flicker of her expression is intentional. "While we're offering up unsolicited advice, here's mine. Especially now that you're a leader," she says, voice smooth but firm, "don’t make personal fights into something political." Her brows rise slightly, her earlier comment about Torchline being stronger than Stormbreak left hanging like a loaded example between them of just what might happen if Zavien continued to take steam-room drama and turn it into something more than just an argument between friends. "I hope you can see how messy that gets."
Without another word, Flora slides a hand into the inner pocket of her sweater, the soft clink of metal barely audible before she withdraws the sleek, palm-sized compass. The etching on its surface catches the cold light just as she holds out her staff to Zavien; an offer made with clean, practiced grace and no lingering tension, though her expression remains tight-lipped.
Spice gives Sol a soft croon, brushing her white-scaled head briefly against the gold before fluttering up onto Flora’s shoulder in a swirl of wings and cold air. The little dragon coils there, watching Zavien with curious, unblinking eyes as Flora meets his gaze one last time. "Thanks for the spar," she says, the words clipped but polite. "I learned a lot." And with that, she presses her thumb against the compass and vanishes.
~FIN
