is this the end of all the endings?
Flora opens the door to the Northaven with her hip first, one hand curled carefully around the still-warm pie balanced in the crook of her arm, the other easing the handle down as if the whole houseboat might shatter into a thousand sleep-deprived little pieces if she breathes too loudly. Which, given that Carlo and Calan are somewhere inside and are both newborns and Taliesins, honestly feels less like paranoia and more like sensible risk management.
The smell of butter and baked fruit slips in with her before she does, sweet and golden and market-fresh. Her blonde curls are pinned into a loose, messy knot that’s already threatening mutiny as she nudges the door shut behind her with ridiculous care. "Helloooo?" she calls softly, the word stretched into something almost musical and immediately swallowed down into a whisper, because gods forbid she be the reason one of her new baby brothers wakes up and decides to file a formal complaint with his lungs. "I come bearing pie, emotional support, and absolutely no opinions about your parent unless specifically requested, which I think we all know is incredibly brave of me."
The smell of butter and baked fruit slips in with her before she does, sweet and golden and market-fresh. Her blonde curls are pinned into a loose, messy knot that’s already threatening mutiny as she nudges the door shut behind her with ridiculous care. "Helloooo?" she calls softly, the word stretched into something almost musical and immediately swallowed down into a whisper, because gods forbid she be the reason one of her new baby brothers wakes up and decides to file a formal complaint with his lungs. "I come bearing pie, emotional support, and absolutely no opinions about your parent unless specifically requested, which I think we all know is incredibly brave of me."
my broken bones are mending
