flora
Flora snickers, the sound bright enough to send a little shimmer through the steam between them as her grin turns wickedly approving. "My permission and my encouragement. And hey, there are lots of Alpina up there who are known to do just that." She shrugs, brows lifting with a look of exaggerated innocence that does not even attempt to be convincing. "Who’s to say what happened, really? Mountains are dangerous. Sometimes people slip."
The laughter fades more gently than it came, and Flora looks down into the water as the constellations scattered across its surface break and reform around the small movements of her hands. Swallowing, she nods, because Melita has put words to the part of it that people tend to slide past, too relieved by resurrection to understand that coming back is not the same as being untouched. "I feel like that’s what people don’t get," she says, her voice softer now, with none of the sparkling varnish she usually paints over things to make them easier to hold. "They think, oh, well, you came back to life, so really what’s the big deal? But like... the dying doesn’t just go away. How it feels, how time stops being the same, it’s just..." Despite the heat wrapped around her, a shiver cuts through her shoulders, sharp and involuntary, and Flora shakes her head as if the motion might loosen the memory from wherever it still clings beneath her skin. "It stays in you."
The shift back toward magic gives her somewhere else to put her hands and her attention, and Flora brightens with obvious relief, her lips twitching as Melita lowers her voice. She can't say the thing she really means, that telepaths should be weaker against so, and so instead she lets her expression go airy and theatrical, drawing the idea out as if she is only being ridiculous. "Maaaaaaaybe that ship captains have a harder time hitting me," she suggests, aqua eyes glinting with private satisfaction. "Orrrrr, if that’s too broad, what about just men who ask the gods for help so they can fuck their ships can’t hit me?"
The laughter fades more gently than it came, and Flora looks down into the water as the constellations scattered across its surface break and reform around the small movements of her hands. Swallowing, she nods, because Melita has put words to the part of it that people tend to slide past, too relieved by resurrection to understand that coming back is not the same as being untouched. "I feel like that’s what people don’t get," she says, her voice softer now, with none of the sparkling varnish she usually paints over things to make them easier to hold. "They think, oh, well, you came back to life, so really what’s the big deal? But like... the dying doesn’t just go away. How it feels, how time stops being the same, it’s just..." Despite the heat wrapped around her, a shiver cuts through her shoulders, sharp and involuntary, and Flora shakes her head as if the motion might loosen the memory from wherever it still clings beneath her skin. "It stays in you."
The shift back toward magic gives her somewhere else to put her hands and her attention, and Flora brightens with obvious relief, her lips twitching as Melita lowers her voice. She can't say the thing she really means, that telepaths should be weaker against so, and so instead she lets her expression go airy and theatrical, drawing the idea out as if she is only being ridiculous. "Maaaaaaaybe that ship captains have a harder time hitting me," she suggests, aqua eyes glinting with private satisfaction. "Orrrrr, if that’s too broad, what about just men who ask the gods for help so they can fuck their ships can’t hit me?"
The rumors are terrible and cruel
But honey, most of them are true
But honey, most of them are true
