flora
"I’d expect nothing else," Flora hums in agreement, like Kiada being formidable is less a statement and more a law of nature, or of Danta maybe.
At his question, her head tilts before her smirk twists into something brighter, more mischievous. "Nothing scandalous or urgent," she says, before shrugging. " But maybe dramatic and timely?" The grin that follows is quick and sharp, and she’s already turning on her heel as he moves toward the desk.
She watches him settle with a kind of fond, sidelong amusement, the way he visibly deflates under the burden of paperwork earning a quiet, knowing roll of her eyes. "I did feel quite protected with him as my shadow," she adds, leaning her hip lightly against the edge of the desk. "There’s something very reassuring about knowing anyone who tries anything will regret it immediately and probably creatively."
When he thrusts the paper her way, Flora's gaze skims the words with a brief squint that suggests she’s reading just enough to understand and not a syllable more. It takes only a second before she exhales something soft and dismissive, shaking her head as she straightens again, already losing interest. "Nah," she says, the verdict easy and unbothered. "The people who need to know about it already know about it."
At his question, her head tilts before her smirk twists into something brighter, more mischievous. "Nothing scandalous or urgent," she says, before shrugging. " But maybe dramatic and timely?" The grin that follows is quick and sharp, and she’s already turning on her heel as he moves toward the desk.
She watches him settle with a kind of fond, sidelong amusement, the way he visibly deflates under the burden of paperwork earning a quiet, knowing roll of her eyes. "I did feel quite protected with him as my shadow," she adds, leaning her hip lightly against the edge of the desk. "There’s something very reassuring about knowing anyone who tries anything will regret it immediately and probably creatively."
When he thrusts the paper her way, Flora's gaze skims the words with a brief squint that suggests she’s reading just enough to understand and not a syllable more. It takes only a second before she exhales something soft and dismissive, shaking her head as she straightens again, already losing interest. "Nah," she says, the verdict easy and unbothered. "The people who need to know about it already know about it."
i scream for whatever it's worth
"i love you" ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?
"i love you" ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?
