Whether I'm gonna curse you out or
Take you back to my house
Take you back to my house
The room smells like salt and lavender soap, though the scent keeps losing ground to the rot-sweet tang of the Memory Mud. It’s crept halfway up the wall like some grotesque idea of ivy, glossy and pulsing faintly beneath the flicker of candlelight. Flora crouches nearby with a bucket between her knees, the sponge in her hand dripping grey water that used to be clean.
Her curls are twisted up in a loose knot to keep them out of the mess, wisps stuck damply to her temples. She’s dressed for the season—a sleeveless linen romper the colour of seafoam, hem scalloped at her thighs, gold rings and bracelets gleaming against her freckled skin. Spice sits on the windowsill behind her, puffed up and unimpressed by the mud’s slow encroachment.
Flora swipes at the wall again, grimacing when the stain only smears further. "I swear this stuff’s got opinions," she mutters, wringing the sponge out into her bucket. "How’re things in King’s End these days, mud monsters aside?" she asks over her shoulder, aqua eyes narrowing playfully at Sunjata as if he might be personally responsible for all the drama in his region.
Her curls are twisted up in a loose knot to keep them out of the mess, wisps stuck damply to her temples. She’s dressed for the season—a sleeveless linen romper the colour of seafoam, hem scalloped at her thighs, gold rings and bracelets gleaming against her freckled skin. Spice sits on the windowsill behind her, puffed up and unimpressed by the mud’s slow encroachment.
Flora swipes at the wall again, grimacing when the stain only smears further. "I swear this stuff’s got opinions," she mutters, wringing the sponge out into her bucket. "How’re things in King’s End these days, mud monsters aside?" she asks over her shoulder, aqua eyes narrowing playfully at Sunjata as if he might be personally responsible for all the drama in his region.
flora
I haven't decided yet
But I'm gonna get you back
But I'm gonna get you back
