slow down, you're doing fine
Flora adjusts the cuff of her jeans as she steps off the final slick stone stair, the fabric already smeared with mud near the hem despite her best efforts. The rain-softened lane of the Last Whisper wraps around them like a half-woken dream, lanternlight diffusing into hazy gold smears above while puddles of Memory Mud shimmer with a deceptive calm that hides how deep they truly are. Her boots sink with a quiet protest into the muck, each step a reminder that Torchline sand has spoiled her for this kind of morning.
"I’m really glad you’re feeling better," she says as she glances back toward Kaisel, her voice warm and smooth beneath the steady patter of rain. They'd more or less just gone to bed the night before in order to escape the chaos of the Blood Moon festival, which had seemingly turned every emotion loose like wild birds in a storm. She brushes a damp curl away from her temple, gold rings glinting as she does, her relief and affection for him steady and sincere.
The rain gathers in fine droplets along her lashes as she starts forward again, moving with the easy familiarity of someone who has navigated this hidden underbelly of the Inner Quarter more times than she can count. "Breakfast is this way," she adds, her tone brightening with the promise of it, the words weaving easily into the muffled hum of distant taverns and fortune tellers opening their doors for the day. The scent of spiced tea and frying dough threads faintly through the air, muted by the rain yet unmistakable.
"I’m really glad you’re feeling better," she says as she glances back toward Kaisel, her voice warm and smooth beneath the steady patter of rain. They'd more or less just gone to bed the night before in order to escape the chaos of the Blood Moon festival, which had seemingly turned every emotion loose like wild birds in a storm. She brushes a damp curl away from her temple, gold rings glinting as she does, her relief and affection for him steady and sincere.
The rain gathers in fine droplets along her lashes as she starts forward again, moving with the easy familiarity of someone who has navigated this hidden underbelly of the Inner Quarter more times than she can count. "Breakfast is this way," she adds, her tone brightening with the promise of it, the words weaving easily into the muffled hum of distant taverns and fortune tellers opening their doors for the day. The scent of spiced tea and frying dough threads faintly through the air, muted by the rain yet unmistakable.
Flora
you can't be everything you wanna be before your time
