is this the end of all the endings?
Kaisel's words strike something deep and trembling inside her—not because she hadn’t imagined this, not because she doesn’t want it—but because no one has ever said them to her before. Not like this. Not with joy lighting up their voice and a smile blooming wild and boyish on their face, like forever isn’t a cage or a consequence but a gift they’re dying to give her. There’s no calculation in it, no performance; just the truth of him, raw and radiant and utterly sure. It steals her breath so cleanly she forgets to inhale, her ribs blooming outward like they’re trying to hold it, hold him, hold all of this joy that suddenly feels too big to fit inside her chest.
Flora has never been given forever. Not as a promise. Not without someone asking her to change first. Not without them wincing when they said it, or viewing this sort of forever as a life sentence for the crime of loving her. But here he is, looking at her like she’s already everything, like he wants the weight of her, the chaos and heat and all, and gods, it undoes her.
"As long as forever starts now," she murmurs, voice soft but steady even as it shivers out of her, "you can take as long as you want to propose." And it’s true; because for all the ways she’s dreamed of rings and a dress and flowers and family, none of it matters as much as this. This feeling. This choice. This future he’s giving her not like it’s a demand or an obligation, but like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.
The smile that tugs at her lips refuses to be contained, even as she tries to press it down behind a breath, behind the press of her cheek into the warmth of his hand. She shifts toward him as much as their tangled limbs and limp exhaustion will allow. Her lashes flutter down for a moment, trying to breathe around everything swelling in her throat. "So I’m not going to say yes," she whispers, words laced with light and mischief even as her voice remains hushed and reverent, "since this wasn’t a proposal." But then she turns her face, lips gently brushing the centre of his palm, before she lifts her gaze back to his and lets the rest fall like a promise onto his skin. "But I’m going to marry you too."
Flora has never been given forever. Not as a promise. Not without someone asking her to change first. Not without them wincing when they said it, or viewing this sort of forever as a life sentence for the crime of loving her. But here he is, looking at her like she’s already everything, like he wants the weight of her, the chaos and heat and all, and gods, it undoes her.
"As long as forever starts now," she murmurs, voice soft but steady even as it shivers out of her, "you can take as long as you want to propose." And it’s true; because for all the ways she’s dreamed of rings and a dress and flowers and family, none of it matters as much as this. This feeling. This choice. This future he’s giving her not like it’s a demand or an obligation, but like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.
The smile that tugs at her lips refuses to be contained, even as she tries to press it down behind a breath, behind the press of her cheek into the warmth of his hand. She shifts toward him as much as their tangled limbs and limp exhaustion will allow. Her lashes flutter down for a moment, trying to breathe around everything swelling in her throat. "So I’m not going to say yes," she whispers, words laced with light and mischief even as her voice remains hushed and reverent, "since this wasn’t a proposal." But then she turns her face, lips gently brushing the centre of his palm, before she lifts her gaze back to his and lets the rest fall like a promise onto his skin. "But I’m going to marry you too."
my broken bones are mending
