flora
The steel in Nina's tone does not go unnoticed. Flora hears it the way one notices a blade’s edge catching light; subtle, deliberate, not meant to be touched. For a flicker of a second she had hoped for some whispered scandal, some dramatic near-failure generations ago, but the certainty in Nina’s voice settles the matter cleanly. No cracks. No cover-ups. Just devotion. Sigh. She inclines her head instead, the teasing curve of her mouth easing into something more respectful. "That’s... honestly impressive," she admits, and she means it. "To keep something alive like that, across generations. " Her gaze drifts briefly toward the hearth, then back again. "You must all have to be incredibly disciplined."
Flora pauses, her expression suddenly thoughtful rather than prying. "Is that why you don't leave Halo?" she asks gently, head tilting, curiosity softening the question. "Because of the Flame?"
When Nina turns the question back to her, Flora exhales a quiet laugh through her nose and shakes her head, curls brushing the edge of her scarf. "No. Not really." The smile that follows is crooked, affectionate, and faintly self-aware. "We definitely have traditions, but.." She trails off there, searching for language that will not sound dismissive, fingers idly tracing the grain of the tabletop as she thinks. Torchline is not lazy. It is not careless. It is alive in a different way. Restless. Salt-soaked. Improvised. "We're not really a people who.." She hesitates again, nose wrinkling as she tries to find something that will not bruise. "Anchor ourselves to symbolism like that, I suppose." Her shoulders lift in a small shrug, apologetic without being ashamed.
"We do keep the lighthouse lit," she adds quickly, a brighter note returning to her voice before a laugh slips out before she can stop it, warmer now, self-deprecating. "Although ours has definitely gone out a few times over the years." She lifts her brows in confession. "Sometimes with fairly disastrous consequences, but.." She shrugs her shoulders; such was life out on the open sea.
Flora pauses, her expression suddenly thoughtful rather than prying. "Is that why you don't leave Halo?" she asks gently, head tilting, curiosity softening the question. "Because of the Flame?"
When Nina turns the question back to her, Flora exhales a quiet laugh through her nose and shakes her head, curls brushing the edge of her scarf. "No. Not really." The smile that follows is crooked, affectionate, and faintly self-aware. "We definitely have traditions, but.." She trails off there, searching for language that will not sound dismissive, fingers idly tracing the grain of the tabletop as she thinks. Torchline is not lazy. It is not careless. It is alive in a different way. Restless. Salt-soaked. Improvised. "We're not really a people who.." She hesitates again, nose wrinkling as she tries to find something that will not bruise. "Anchor ourselves to symbolism like that, I suppose." Her shoulders lift in a small shrug, apologetic without being ashamed.
"We do keep the lighthouse lit," she adds quickly, a brighter note returning to her voice before a laugh slips out before she can stop it, warmer now, self-deprecating. "Although ours has definitely gone out a few times over the years." She lifts her brows in confession. "Sometimes with fairly disastrous consequences, but.." She shrugs her shoulders; such was life out on the open sea.
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
