flora
Spice’s reaction is immediate and deeply unimpressed, a sharp hiss spilling down from Flora’s shoulder as the little frost dragon arches herself protectively, wings flaring just enough to make a point. Flora’s mouth opens on a warning at the exact same moment the other woman speaks her companion’s name, the timing so perfectly mirrored that it steals a laugh straight out of her chest before she can stop it. "Spice," she says, gentle but firm, fingers lifting instinctively to rub along the dragon’s neck in apology, her smile already crooked with fond resignation.
Her gaze flicks back to the woman in front of her, taking her in properly now—the strength in her posture, the striking lines of her face, the quiet authority that sits easily on her shoulders—and the recognition softens something in Flora’s expression. "Same problem," she adds with an easy chuckle, eyes darting briefly back to the frost dragon as if this explains everything.
The offer lands like a small miracle. Flora wrinkles her nose, the movement exaggerated and self-aware, shoulders hunching slightly deeper into her layers. "Is it that obvious?" The laugh that follows is warm and helpless, the kind that admits defeat without shame. "I’m from Torchline," she says, as though that single word should explain the scarf, the gloves, the borderline desperation radiating from her.
She steps forward without hesitation, boots crunching softly against the snow, Spice settling again with a faintly sulky shuffle. "Something warm sounds incredible," Flora admits, relief colouring her voice as she nods. "My name's Flora."
Her gaze flicks back to the woman in front of her, taking her in properly now—the strength in her posture, the striking lines of her face, the quiet authority that sits easily on her shoulders—and the recognition softens something in Flora’s expression. "Same problem," she adds with an easy chuckle, eyes darting briefly back to the frost dragon as if this explains everything.
The offer lands like a small miracle. Flora wrinkles her nose, the movement exaggerated and self-aware, shoulders hunching slightly deeper into her layers. "Is it that obvious?" The laugh that follows is warm and helpless, the kind that admits defeat without shame. "I’m from Torchline," she says, as though that single word should explain the scarf, the gloves, the borderline desperation radiating from her.
She steps forward without hesitation, boots crunching softly against the snow, Spice settling again with a faintly sulky shuffle. "Something warm sounds incredible," Flora admits, relief colouring her voice as she nods. "My name's Flora."
and if you'd never come for me, I might've drowned in the melancholy
I swore my loyalty to me, myself, and I, Right before you lit my sky up
I swore my loyalty to me, myself, and I, Right before you lit my sky up
