Flora
there's no time to waste on loving badly
Flora doesn’t so much as flinch when Colt turns the blade toward Sohalia, her lips curving instead into something quietly, unmistakably smug, because of course she’s already been there, already asked the question, already picked apart that moment with the kind of precision Colt seems to think she’s only just discovered. She knows exactly why Sohalia had said maybe, knows the shape of that instinct to soften a refusal rather than risk hurting someone outright, and while it isn’t Flora’s way—never has been, never will be—it isn’t foreign to her either. Sohalia bends where Flora cuts, and there’s something almost fond in the way Flora lets that settle in her chest, a silent, satisfied little note that Colt thinks she’s uncovered something clever when really she’s only stumbled into territory Flora has already mapped and claimed for herself.She might have let it end there, might have let Colt walk away with her version of things intact, because Flora doesn’t actually need the last word to know she’s right, but then her mother’s name drops into the conversation like it belongs there, casual and uninvited, and the remark toward Asta follows close behind, and something in Flora shifts just enough to matter. The laugh that slips from her is soft and bitter and far too amused for the moment, her gaze flicking after Colt as she turns away, already halfway to the door like she’s done something worth walking off from. Flora doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t need to, her tone carrying easily through the space between them, bright and lilting and laced with something sharper underneath as she calls, "I can’t wait to see you at one of the leaders’ meetings!" There’s a pause, just long enough to make it feel intentional, before she adds with sparkling, exaggerated encouragement, "You’re doing super at political relations already."
Only then does her attention snag somewhere else entirely, the thread of her focus catching on Sohalia just in time to see the shine in her eyes, the hurt there, the way she turns and disappears before Flora can so much as reach for her, and the shift is immediate, irritation flaring hotter and sharper now that it has somewhere real to land. "Oh, for—" she exhales under her breath, the words cutting off into a quiet groan as she squeezes Mateo ’s side before tipping her chin up toward Astaroth with a quick, bright smile that feels like gratitude wrapped in momentum. "I love you both and you’re perfect, brb," she tosses out in one breath, already pulling away, already moving.
The sequins of her dress catch and scatter light as she slips through the crowd with purpose, all fluid motion and barely-contained urgency, following the path Sohalia took without hesitation, the party blurring at the edges behind her as she pushes into the quieter hall beyond, drawn not by the argument anymore but by the person it’s left in its wake.
Code stolen from Queen Sky
