flora
Flora tries to melt into him, but it’s like trying to settle into a nest of splintered wood, every edge inside her misaligned. Her body aches from the tension of it, from the posture of protection she’s been holding for too long. She leans against him, because she loves him, because part of her still remembers how to do this, how to give in to his warmth and let it seep into her, but it’s as if something’s snapped out of place within her—bone or trust or belief—and now it can’t quite bear her weight the way it used to.
So when his arms come around her and his voice starts to shape the truth aloud, she holds her breath like it might keep her from breaking further. The word trespass lands inside her like something clean and terrible, slicing through fog, and she closes her eyes, nodding slowly. Yes. That’s what it was, especially when things were bad. A quiet invasion. A soft, intimate violence that left no bruises, just rearranged thoughts and permission she never really gave.
Her hand lifts, trembling, and she stretches it into the dim light between them, pointing at a slim golden band around her finger. It glints, delicate and innocuous, like it could mean anything. Like it hasn’t meant sanctuary and surrender and silent desperation all this time. "I got this to keep him out," she whispers, voice thin with exhaustion and embarrassment, like she’s showing him a secret she’s ashamed of needing. "Safrin made it for me, but it only blocks him a little. He’s stronger than I am. At best, it just makes things blurry." The admission falls flat between them, heavy with failure. The ring hadn’t protected her, it had just made it easier to pretend everything was fine.
But then Kai says it hadn't been love, and her whole body recoils, a slow shudder rolling through her as her eyes snap to his, wide and stunned and suddenly full of panic. Her expression fractures like glass catching frost. Her lips part, desperate to say something, anything, and for a moment, she can’t breathe. "No," she moans, almost pleading. "No—don’t—" But the words are slipping through her like water through cupped hands. "It was, at least...I think it was."
Because if it wasn’t love, then what was it? What had she fought for, bled for, died for? Surely it wasn’t all just obsession dressed up in poetry. Surely she hadn’t mistaken rot for bloom. If she’d been wrong about that—so utterly, so thoroughly wrong—then how could she ever trust herself again to know what love was?
Her throat burns with the grief of it, the confusion, the gut-deep refusal to let it all be rewritten into something meaningless. She doesn’t try to defend Jack even though some part of her wants to. She doesn’t speak to the parts of him that shaped her or the parts she saw that no one else did, though that weight sits in the back of her throat like something she doesn’t have the right to lift right now. Not here, and not with Kaisel thinking she'd wanted to leave him.
So she folds into the truth that is hers. "I just wanted to apologize," she says, her voice barely holding. "I wasn't trying to fix anything, not to go back to him...just to...to say I’m sorry for how I ended things." She doesn’t try to steady her voice anymore, doesn’t try to blink the tears away as they roll down her cheeks in heavy streaks. "I wanted to tell him he deserved more than a letter." Her shoulders lift with a shallow, hitching breath. "But he just said we'd been a waste of his time."
Her gaze drifts upward, finding Kai’s through the haze. Her lips tremble, her whole face wet and flushed, the colour high in her cheeks from crying too long and breathing too little. "Years," she whispers, the word breaking off inside her. "It was years of my life. Of loving him and trying so hard to keep something broken from falling apart completely. And if all of that—if I—was just a waste of time to him, then…..." Her voice trails off, but the question lingers, heavy and raw. Then what does that make me? She swallows hard, but the ache only gets worse.
"And now—" her voice cracks again, and her head shakes, slow and despairing, "—now it feels like it’s happening again." She doesn’t mean the magic or the cruelty or the secrets. She means this: the way someone she loves is looking at her like he doesn’t know where she stands. "Because even after everything I thought I was giving you, you still thought I was going to leave." Her eyes search his, pained and desperate and unbearably sincere.
"He was inside my head for so long, that...that maybe I don't know how to do this." Maybe her love was just a murky reflection of what she thought it was when seen by a lens other than telepathy, and even then, when seen clearly, it had been judged as a waste of time.
So when his arms come around her and his voice starts to shape the truth aloud, she holds her breath like it might keep her from breaking further. The word trespass lands inside her like something clean and terrible, slicing through fog, and she closes her eyes, nodding slowly. Yes. That’s what it was, especially when things were bad. A quiet invasion. A soft, intimate violence that left no bruises, just rearranged thoughts and permission she never really gave.
Her hand lifts, trembling, and she stretches it into the dim light between them, pointing at a slim golden band around her finger. It glints, delicate and innocuous, like it could mean anything. Like it hasn’t meant sanctuary and surrender and silent desperation all this time. "I got this to keep him out," she whispers, voice thin with exhaustion and embarrassment, like she’s showing him a secret she’s ashamed of needing. "Safrin made it for me, but it only blocks him a little. He’s stronger than I am. At best, it just makes things blurry." The admission falls flat between them, heavy with failure. The ring hadn’t protected her, it had just made it easier to pretend everything was fine.
But then Kai says it hadn't been love, and her whole body recoils, a slow shudder rolling through her as her eyes snap to his, wide and stunned and suddenly full of panic. Her expression fractures like glass catching frost. Her lips part, desperate to say something, anything, and for a moment, she can’t breathe. "No," she moans, almost pleading. "No—don’t—" But the words are slipping through her like water through cupped hands. "It was, at least...I think it was."
Because if it wasn’t love, then what was it? What had she fought for, bled for, died for? Surely it wasn’t all just obsession dressed up in poetry. Surely she hadn’t mistaken rot for bloom. If she’d been wrong about that—so utterly, so thoroughly wrong—then how could she ever trust herself again to know what love was?
Her throat burns with the grief of it, the confusion, the gut-deep refusal to let it all be rewritten into something meaningless. She doesn’t try to defend Jack even though some part of her wants to. She doesn’t speak to the parts of him that shaped her or the parts she saw that no one else did, though that weight sits in the back of her throat like something she doesn’t have the right to lift right now. Not here, and not with Kaisel thinking she'd wanted to leave him.
So she folds into the truth that is hers. "I just wanted to apologize," she says, her voice barely holding. "I wasn't trying to fix anything, not to go back to him...just to...to say I’m sorry for how I ended things." She doesn’t try to steady her voice anymore, doesn’t try to blink the tears away as they roll down her cheeks in heavy streaks. "I wanted to tell him he deserved more than a letter." Her shoulders lift with a shallow, hitching breath. "But he just said we'd been a waste of his time."
Her gaze drifts upward, finding Kai’s through the haze. Her lips tremble, her whole face wet and flushed, the colour high in her cheeks from crying too long and breathing too little. "Years," she whispers, the word breaking off inside her. "It was years of my life. Of loving him and trying so hard to keep something broken from falling apart completely. And if all of that—if I—was just a waste of time to him, then…..." Her voice trails off, but the question lingers, heavy and raw. Then what does that make me? She swallows hard, but the ache only gets worse.
"And now—" her voice cracks again, and her head shakes, slow and despairing, "—now it feels like it’s happening again." She doesn’t mean the magic or the cruelty or the secrets. She means this: the way someone she loves is looking at her like he doesn’t know where she stands. "Because even after everything I thought I was giving you, you still thought I was going to leave." Her eyes search his, pained and desperate and unbearably sincere.
"He was inside my head for so long, that...that maybe I don't know how to do this." Maybe her love was just a murky reflection of what she thought it was when seen by a lens other than telepathy, and even then, when seen clearly, it had been judged as a waste of time.
Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness
'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea
'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea
