flora
Flora lets out a breath she hadn’t quite realized she was holding, the sound soft and almost lost beneath the slap of water as Melita resurfaces and makes her way back toward the board. There had been a flicker of worry there—brief and sharp—that she might sound spoiled, petulant, ungrateful for the kind of protection most people only dream of. That wanting to stand without the shadow of wings overhead might be mistaken for not appreciating them. But the Honeybee’s easy I get that settles against her ribs like a steadying hand, and she allows herself to relax into it.
She doesn’t argue when Melita tells her she’s done quite a bit for herself. She could. She could point out the invisible scaffolding that has always been there, the safety net strung tight beneath every leap. But she only wrinkles her nose instead, affectionate and faintly sheepish, and lifts her glass in a small salute. "Noted," she says, the word light but deliberate. "Most expensive shit in all of Torchline, then." The laugh that follows is bright and self-aware.
She watches Melita climb the board again, sunlight turning her into something molten and wild against the sky, and Flora’s grin widens as cannons and destruction and looming warnings settle into something almost festive between them. "Perfect," she declares, pleased with the shape of it all. At the question about underwater monsters, she snickers, the sound quick and delighted. "Oh my gods," she says, lowering her sunglasses just enough to peer up toward the board, eyes sparkling. "They are not just doing all right." She leans forward on the tumsea, conspiratorial, as though the ghosts themselves might eavesdrop if she’s not careful. "They’re expecting a baby."
The word seems to shimmer in the air between them, ridiculous and wonderful, before she tilts her head, curls threatening to slip loose as she lowers her voice further, even though they are very much alone in her private pool. "Actually," she adds, grin sharpening with mischief, "it’s twins. They haven’t figured that out yet, so don't ruin theshock surprise."
She doesn’t argue when Melita tells her she’s done quite a bit for herself. She could. She could point out the invisible scaffolding that has always been there, the safety net strung tight beneath every leap. But she only wrinkles her nose instead, affectionate and faintly sheepish, and lifts her glass in a small salute. "Noted," she says, the word light but deliberate. "Most expensive shit in all of Torchline, then." The laugh that follows is bright and self-aware.
She watches Melita climb the board again, sunlight turning her into something molten and wild against the sky, and Flora’s grin widens as cannons and destruction and looming warnings settle into something almost festive between them. "Perfect," she declares, pleased with the shape of it all. At the question about underwater monsters, she snickers, the sound quick and delighted. "Oh my gods," she says, lowering her sunglasses just enough to peer up toward the board, eyes sparkling. "They are not just doing all right." She leans forward on the tumsea, conspiratorial, as though the ghosts themselves might eavesdrop if she’s not careful. "They’re expecting a baby."
The word seems to shimmer in the air between them, ridiculous and wonderful, before she tilts her head, curls threatening to slip loose as she lowers her voice further, even though they are very much alone in her private pool. "Actually," she adds, grin sharpening with mischief, "it’s twins. They haven’t figured that out yet, so don't ruin the
I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights
I wanna kill the lights
