candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor
Flora laughs under her breath, the sound a soft ripple against Niki’s shoulder. "Maybe it’s fitting," she muses, voice rich with amusement, "that you go from being a ghost to being possessed." The image delights her far more than it should, and she hides another grin against the fabric of his sweater.
It’s strange, really, how far they’ve come from that first meeting at the bottom of the hill. Then, he’d been wary and sharp-edged, his distance as solid as the cane he now no longer needs to lean on. Now, she thinks nothing of pressing close, of tucking herself comfortably against him in the amber-lit kitchen. The idea that she won’t get to do it regularly anymore makes something in her chest twist quietly.
When she glances up at him, her expression softens before brightening again with mischief. "Who knows," she says with a playful shrug, curls brushing her cheek, "maybe Wildering House will have permanently changed your sleep schedule. Or maybe one of the spirits will follow you home, and if it’s one of the ones who enjoys your midnight decorating sprees, well—" she grins, "I wish your furniture luck."
But it’s his pause at the mention of Enzo that really does her in. The way he freezes mid-sip, cup halfway to his lips, that slow, incredulous look that never fails to amuse her. She can’t help it, her smile turns downright wicked. "Oh, nothing," she says innocently, drawing the words out as she straightens and drifts toward her tea, pretending to study the steam as she blows across it. "Just that he’s handsome and clever and very charming." Her eyes sparkle as she looks back over her shoulder, the grin tugging at her lips betraying her. "And importantly, not engaged to my mother."
It’s strange, really, how far they’ve come from that first meeting at the bottom of the hill. Then, he’d been wary and sharp-edged, his distance as solid as the cane he now no longer needs to lean on. Now, she thinks nothing of pressing close, of tucking herself comfortably against him in the amber-lit kitchen. The idea that she won’t get to do it regularly anymore makes something in her chest twist quietly.
When she glances up at him, her expression softens before brightening again with mischief. "Who knows," she says with a playful shrug, curls brushing her cheek, "maybe Wildering House will have permanently changed your sleep schedule. Or maybe one of the spirits will follow you home, and if it’s one of the ones who enjoys your midnight decorating sprees, well—" she grins, "I wish your furniture luck."
But it’s his pause at the mention of Enzo that really does her in. The way he freezes mid-sip, cup halfway to his lips, that slow, incredulous look that never fails to amuse her. She can’t help it, her smile turns downright wicked. "Oh, nothing," she says innocently, drawing the words out as she straightens and drifts toward her tea, pretending to study the steam as she blows across it. "Just that he’s handsome and clever and very charming." Her eyes sparkle as she looks back over her shoulder, the grin tugging at her lips betraying her. "And importantly, not engaged to my mother."
