get my car door, isn't that sweet? then pull me to the backseat
For one dazzling, stupidly impossible second after Safrin vanishes, Flora just stands there blinking at the empty space where a goddess had been.
The blue candleflames shiver around the shrine, jasmine hanging sweet and expensive in the air, starlight still scattered across the glass walls as if the room has been dusted in crushed constellations, and Flora can feel the kiss like a secret pressed beneath her skin, warm and bright and absolutely terrifying in the way only something wonderful can be when it’s too late to take it back. Her lips part, but nothing comes out at first, not even one of the extremely useful and intelligent comments she normally keeps on standby for moments of divine emotional assault, because her body has apparently decided that all available resources must be redirected into standing upright while her pulse tries to turn itself into a firework display.
She’s mine, Safrin had said, and Flora’s mind catches on it like silk snagged on a ring, tugging once, twice, until the whole thought unspools in a glittering rush. Not borrowed. Not politely favoured. Not almost, or maybe, or under consideration pending whatever impossible nonsense the gods usually liked to make mortals do for a crumb of attention. Done. Hers. Safrin’s. A lifetime of fealty, a vow already sinking roots through her ribs, and if fear is there too, it’s swallowed instantly beneath the wild, champagne-bubble fizz of oh gods, oh gods, oh gods that goes racing through her blood.
Adrenaline hits hard enough that Flora’s hands fly to her mouth, gold rings cold against her flushed cheeks, and depending on where Kaisel is in Wildering House, the magical bond between ring and bracelet might catch the bright, violent spike of it before she has even managed to breathe properly. The house certainly does. As if the spirits have been waiting with their faces pressed invisibly against every keyhole in the place, Wildering House erupts around her in a delighted riot; doors slam somewhere down the hall with the enthusiasm of a standing ovation, lights flicker wildly through the glass-walled room, drawers rattle open and shut, and from deeper in the estate music suddenly bursts to life at a volume that suggests at least one ghost has decided this moment requires choreography.
Flora laughs, the sound coming out half-hysterical and wholly thrilled, before it breaks apart into something much louder as she whirls away from the shrine, curls bouncing loose around her face and aqua eyes blazing bright enough to rival the starlight still clinging to the windows. "KAISEL!" she screeches, all dignity abandoned somewhere between divine vow and haunted house celebration, her voice ringing through Wildering House with enough force to carry down halls, over balconies, through glass and coral stone and whatever chaos the spirits are currently making in their ecstatic little rampage. "K A I S E L!"
The blue candleflames shiver around the shrine, jasmine hanging sweet and expensive in the air, starlight still scattered across the glass walls as if the room has been dusted in crushed constellations, and Flora can feel the kiss like a secret pressed beneath her skin, warm and bright and absolutely terrifying in the way only something wonderful can be when it’s too late to take it back. Her lips part, but nothing comes out at first, not even one of the extremely useful and intelligent comments she normally keeps on standby for moments of divine emotional assault, because her body has apparently decided that all available resources must be redirected into standing upright while her pulse tries to turn itself into a firework display.
She’s mine, Safrin had said, and Flora’s mind catches on it like silk snagged on a ring, tugging once, twice, until the whole thought unspools in a glittering rush. Not borrowed. Not politely favoured. Not almost, or maybe, or under consideration pending whatever impossible nonsense the gods usually liked to make mortals do for a crumb of attention. Done. Hers. Safrin’s. A lifetime of fealty, a vow already sinking roots through her ribs, and if fear is there too, it’s swallowed instantly beneath the wild, champagne-bubble fizz of oh gods, oh gods, oh gods that goes racing through her blood.
Adrenaline hits hard enough that Flora’s hands fly to her mouth, gold rings cold against her flushed cheeks, and depending on where Kaisel is in Wildering House, the magical bond between ring and bracelet might catch the bright, violent spike of it before she has even managed to breathe properly. The house certainly does. As if the spirits have been waiting with their faces pressed invisibly against every keyhole in the place, Wildering House erupts around her in a delighted riot; doors slam somewhere down the hall with the enthusiasm of a standing ovation, lights flicker wildly through the glass-walled room, drawers rattle open and shut, and from deeper in the estate music suddenly bursts to life at a volume that suggests at least one ghost has decided this moment requires choreography.
Flora laughs, the sound coming out half-hysterical and wholly thrilled, before it breaks apart into something much louder as she whirls away from the shrine, curls bouncing loose around her face and aqua eyes blazing bright enough to rival the starlight still clinging to the windows. "KAISEL!" she screeches, all dignity abandoned somewhere between divine vow and haunted house celebration, her voice ringing through Wildering House with enough force to carry down halls, over balconies, through glass and coral stone and whatever chaos the spirits are currently making in their ecstatic little rampage. "K A I S E L!"
no one's ever had me, not like you
