flora
Sunlight shivers through the glass dome like spilled champagne, gilding the marble floors and the slow curve of Flora’s handwriting. She’s been at it for hours; Torchline’s coastal reports stacked like coral reefs across her desk, a sea of parchment and ink that threatens to drown her if she so much as blinks too long. Somewhere outside, the hels are laughing about it, she's sure.
Her attire, at least, refuses to share her misery. A soft wrap dress of cream silk clings and breathes with the season, its hem brushing against her bare calves each time she shifts in her chair. Gold rings glint when she turns a page—little suns orbiting her fingers—and her curls are piled in a messy knot that somehow still looks intentional, a few strands falling against her neck where the heat gathers.
She’s pretending to care deeply about the new dock inspection summaries when what she’s really doing is listening for footsteps, for the faint rustle of a picnic basket, for Ronin’s easy laugh echoing through the courthouse halls. He’d promised to bring her lunch when she'd told him she was too busy to leave and meet him somewhere, and though they hadn't set a firm time for it, the grumbling of her stomach suggested he was bordering on late.
Her attire, at least, refuses to share her misery. A soft wrap dress of cream silk clings and breathes with the season, its hem brushing against her bare calves each time she shifts in her chair. Gold rings glint when she turns a page—little suns orbiting her fingers—and her curls are piled in a messy knot that somehow still looks intentional, a few strands falling against her neck where the heat gathers.
She’s pretending to care deeply about the new dock inspection summaries when what she’s really doing is listening for footsteps, for the faint rustle of a picnic basket, for Ronin’s easy laugh echoing through the courthouse halls. He’d promised to bring her lunch when she'd told him she was too busy to leave and meet him somewhere, and though they hadn't set a firm time for it, the grumbling of her stomach suggested he was bordering on late.
and if you'd never come for me, I might've drowned in the melancholy
I swore my loyalty to me, myself, and I, Right before you lit my sky up
I swore my loyalty to me, myself, and I, Right before you lit my sky up
