it ain't no crime, it's just dreams we're stealin'
Flora’s expression starts to shift almost immediately, the gummy worm forgotten somewhere between her teeth as the shape of his story settles in and the room—traitorous, enchanted thing that it is—decides to help, the flicker of candlelight catching on those conjured, mismatched eyes in a way that makes her stomach tilt just slightly off-centre, like she’s been nudged out of alignment without permission. Her fingers creep up toward her own face without her noticing at first, pressing lightly at her cheeks as though to make sure everything is still where it should be, her nose wrinkling in slow, dawning horror that builds not in sharp spikes but in a steady, creeping crawl, the kind that makes her shoulders rise higher and higher until they’re nearly brushing her ears while she watches Kaisel from beneath the shadow of her hood.
By the time he gets to the spoon, she’s already shaking her head in small, helpless refusals, breath held like if she doesn’t inhale then none of it can actually reach her, can’t slip inside and linger the way his ridiculous little rule insists things might, and when he keeps going there’s a soft, wounded sound pulled from her throat that’s half protest and half disbelief, her eyes squeezing shut for a second too long before snapping back open just in case closing them somehow makes it worse. "No, no, no—why would he—Kai," she murmurs under her breath, like she might interrupt the past if she complains about it enough, though her voice thins at the edges as the story barrels onward without her consent, her grip tightening unconsciously in the fabric pooled around her knees.
When it finally ends, she exhales in a long, unhappy whine that feels dragged out of her, her shoulders dropping in stages as if they’ve forgotten how to lower themselves all at once, and she rubs her palms down her arms like she’s trying to smooth something invisible back into place. "I’d have just gotten contacts," she says, the words slipping out with a brittle sort of logic that doesn’t quite land but insists on existing anyway, her brows pulling together as she tries to shake off the lingering image of it, of him, of the mirror that now feels a little too present in a room that absolutely does not need one.
Her hand drifts toward the pile of snacks without much thought, grabbing two coloured chocolate candies before she pauses, gaze flicking down as something in her still unsettled, still slightly skewed mind catches on the differences in them. Dropping one and picking up another of a matching colour, she pops them into her mouth with a crunch.
By the time he gets to the spoon, she’s already shaking her head in small, helpless refusals, breath held like if she doesn’t inhale then none of it can actually reach her, can’t slip inside and linger the way his ridiculous little rule insists things might, and when he keeps going there’s a soft, wounded sound pulled from her throat that’s half protest and half disbelief, her eyes squeezing shut for a second too long before snapping back open just in case closing them somehow makes it worse. "No, no, no—why would he—Kai," she murmurs under her breath, like she might interrupt the past if she complains about it enough, though her voice thins at the edges as the story barrels onward without her consent, her grip tightening unconsciously in the fabric pooled around her knees.
When it finally ends, she exhales in a long, unhappy whine that feels dragged out of her, her shoulders dropping in stages as if they’ve forgotten how to lower themselves all at once, and she rubs her palms down her arms like she’s trying to smooth something invisible back into place. "I’d have just gotten contacts," she says, the words slipping out with a brittle sort of logic that doesn’t quite land but insists on existing anyway, her brows pulling together as she tries to shake off the lingering image of it, of him, of the mirror that now feels a little too present in a room that absolutely does not need one.
Her hand drifts toward the pile of snacks without much thought, grabbing two coloured chocolate candies before she pauses, gaze flicking down as something in her still unsettled, still slightly skewed mind catches on the differences in them. Dropping one and picking up another of a matching colour, she pops them into her mouth with a crunch.
anything to get more of this feeling
