is this the end of all the endings?
As Kaisel mouths ditto, Flora’s breath catches like she’s been struck through the ribs with something molten and sweet. Her head tilts, curls brushing her shoulder as she tries not to visibly swoon, but gods, it’s a near thing. The look she gives him is soft and stunned and aching with affection, like she wants to scream or cry or drag him upstairs and lock the door. Instead, she just stands there and burns, her heart a bonfire behind the gold of her smile, the blush high across her cheeks like a bloom unfurling.
Spice, bless her scaly little heart, chomps the shrimp like it’s her solemn duty to protect the culinary integrity of the household. Her pearly neck stretches toward the bowl with curious ceremony, nostrils twitching, long-lashed eyes fixed on Kaisel as if awaiting further samples or tributes.
Flora doesn't intervene, for the moment she’s too busy melting, at least until Ronin translates that Remi and Mateo are gossiping about Kai. Her expression shifts in a snap, saccharine gone sour as she pivots on her heel. "Rude," she says, the word soaked in performative scandal. Without waiting for an answer, she storms toward the archway between the kitchen and the lounge like a prosecutor taking the floor.
A loud, deliberate ahem cuts through the air, Flora framed by sea-blue walls and golden light as she levels an accusatory gaze at the two men in question. Her aqua eyes narrow, her brows arch, and her hand finds her hip with choreographed flair. [asy]"If the two of you have nothing better to do," she announces, voice bright and falsely polite, "I would quite like a drink, and someone can set the table." She was going to have the spirits do it, but now it seems a better task for gossip 1 and gossip 2.
Spice, bless her scaly little heart, chomps the shrimp like it’s her solemn duty to protect the culinary integrity of the household. Her pearly neck stretches toward the bowl with curious ceremony, nostrils twitching, long-lashed eyes fixed on Kaisel as if awaiting further samples or tributes.
Flora doesn't intervene, for the moment she’s too busy melting, at least until Ronin translates that Remi and Mateo are gossiping about Kai. Her expression shifts in a snap, saccharine gone sour as she pivots on her heel. "Rude," she says, the word soaked in performative scandal. Without waiting for an answer, she storms toward the archway between the kitchen and the lounge like a prosecutor taking the floor.
A loud, deliberate ahem cuts through the air, Flora framed by sea-blue walls and golden light as she levels an accusatory gaze at the two men in question. Her aqua eyes narrow, her brows arch, and her hand finds her hip with choreographed flair. [asy]"If the two of you have nothing better to do," she announces, voice bright and falsely polite, "I would quite like a drink, and someone can set the table." She was going to have the spirits do it, but now it seems a better task for gossip 1 and gossip 2.
my broken bones are mending
