yeah I got heartbreak that I reminisce about
The heat hits her all at once. It coils low and sharp, a sudden, intrusive bloom that steals the air from her lungs and has her biting hard into her lower lip to keep the sound from escaping. Colour rushes up her neck and across her cheeks, a telltale flush she cannot will away, and for one mortifying heartbeat her body reacts faster than her thoughts ever could. The god’s presence presses in, indulgent and unashamed, and Flora’s fingers curl reflexively into the fabric at her sides as she fights the urge to lean into it, but she forces herself to listen.
Of course she’s alright. The words land clean and certain, cutting through the haze of sensation like a bell struck underwater. Her brows knit instantly, confusion sparking even as Frey’s touch ghosts along her cheek and leaves her skin burning in its wake. The reassurance should settle her, should ease the knot in her chest, but instead it tightens, pulling inward, wrong in a way she cannot immediately name.
When the god vanishes, the warmth receding in a rush that leaves her unsteady, Flora swallows hard and lifts her gaze to Sunjata. There’s a question already forming on her lips, a fractured but that never quite makes it out. Instead she closes her eyes and reaches, not for divinity this time, not for indulgent certainty or half-answers wrapped in desire, but for the familiar thread that has been there as long as Hotaru has been a demigod, but there is nothing. No resistance. No warmth. No echo. Just an empty, silent stretch where something should be.
Flora’s breath stutters, the last of the heat draining away and leaving her cold in its place. Her arms fold tighter around herself, fingers digging in as if she can physically hold herself together through the sudden, yawning absence. When she opens her eyes again, they shine too brightly as she looks up at Sunjata, fear finally breaking through the composure she’s been clinging to.
"But if she’s fine," she says, her voice low and unsteady despite her effort, "why can’t I channel her?" Her throat works as she swallows, shaking her head once, curls slipping loose around her face. "I just tried," she adds quietly, the words heavy and wrong.
Of course she’s alright. The words land clean and certain, cutting through the haze of sensation like a bell struck underwater. Her brows knit instantly, confusion sparking even as Frey’s touch ghosts along her cheek and leaves her skin burning in its wake. The reassurance should settle her, should ease the knot in her chest, but instead it tightens, pulling inward, wrong in a way she cannot immediately name.
When the god vanishes, the warmth receding in a rush that leaves her unsteady, Flora swallows hard and lifts her gaze to Sunjata. There’s a question already forming on her lips, a fractured but that never quite makes it out. Instead she closes her eyes and reaches, not for divinity this time, not for indulgent certainty or half-answers wrapped in desire, but for the familiar thread that has been there as long as Hotaru has been a demigod, but there is nothing. No resistance. No warmth. No echo. Just an empty, silent stretch where something should be.
Flora’s breath stutters, the last of the heat draining away and leaving her cold in its place. Her arms fold tighter around herself, fingers digging in as if she can physically hold herself together through the sudden, yawning absence. When she opens her eyes again, they shine too brightly as she looks up at Sunjata, fear finally breaking through the composure she’s been clinging to.
"But if she’s fine," she says, her voice low and unsteady despite her effort, "why can’t I channel her?" Her throat works as she swallows, shaking her head once, curls slipping loose around her face. "I just tried," she adds quietly, the words heavy and wrong.
real big things I still gotta figure out
