yeah I got heartbreak that I reminisce about
Flora barely hears Sunjata as the words reach her ears—I’m sure she’s okay, the party looks great—all slide past without landing, like rain on glass. Her head shakes slowly, helplessly, curls loosening around her shoulders as something sharper and more urgent takes root beneath her ribs. Counting days turning into weeks, weeks into months, presses in on her chest until it’s hard to breathe around it.
She glances once over Sunjata’s shoulder, instinctive and unthinking, catching sight of Kaisel tipping back a drink before drifting toward Thalassa, the party still moving, still bright and alive. Fire crackles, laughter rings, and crrystal flashes red and gold, but it all suddenly feels obscene.
"No," she says, the word leaving her with a soft hitch, her gaze snapping back to Sunjata, aqua eyes too bright now. "No, we need to be sure." Her hands curl against her arms again, fingers digging in as though she can anchor herself in her own body. She draws in a shaky breath, then another, and then closes her eyes, shutting out the music, the firelight, the watching spirits, the weight of the house holding itself still around them.
Frey. The name forms silently, a plea rather than a prayer, urgent and raw. Flora tips her face upward just slightly, lashes resting against her cheeks as she reaches for that familiar, dangerous warmth; the presence that has always felt too close to comfort and too far away to trust. Please, she begs without words, heart hammering. Please tell me if she's okay.
Flora channels Frey!
She glances once over Sunjata’s shoulder, instinctive and unthinking, catching sight of Kaisel tipping back a drink before drifting toward Thalassa, the party still moving, still bright and alive. Fire crackles, laughter rings, and crrystal flashes red and gold, but it all suddenly feels obscene.
"No," she says, the word leaving her with a soft hitch, her gaze snapping back to Sunjata, aqua eyes too bright now. "No, we need to be sure." Her hands curl against her arms again, fingers digging in as though she can anchor herself in her own body. She draws in a shaky breath, then another, and then closes her eyes, shutting out the music, the firelight, the watching spirits, the weight of the house holding itself still around them.
Frey. The name forms silently, a plea rather than a prayer, urgent and raw. Flora tips her face upward just slightly, lashes resting against her cheeks as she reaches for that familiar, dangerous warmth; the presence that has always felt too close to comfort and too far away to trust. Please, she begs without words, heart hammering. Please tell me if she's okay.
Flora channels Frey!
real big things I still gotta figure out
