I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings
Flora watches him with a predator’s stillness as he starts to sit up, her eyes never leaving his face and her posture making it very clear that any attempt to scramble away will be met with consequences. When he points out that she took him into the pool too, her expression shifts into something almost thoughtful, though there is far too much innocence in it to be trusted. "Did I?" she asks, drawing the words out as she raises one brow.
Before he can build the case any further, Flora turns slightly toward the open stretch of kitchen beside them and calls up the memory in a shimmer of light. From where she had been treading water, pointing at him from the pool’s edge, the replay is perfectly clear: Kaisel stands at the side of the pool, triumphant and dry; Flora lifts her hand in warning; then, without anyone visibly touching him, he suddenly jerks forward and sails headlong into the water. Spice is positioned directly behind him, her pale little body almost entirely hidden by his shoulders, and from Flora’s angle it looks for all the world like he simply loses his footing and hurls himself in. The memory loops once, neat and damning, before dissolving.
Turning back to him, Flora lifts her brows again, the look composed enough to suggest she has just presented irrefutable evidence before a very serious court. Her mouth twitches at one corner, though, because she knows precisely how ridiculous the argument is. "I didn’t touch you," she says, sweet and certain. "You jumped in."
Before he can build the case any further, Flora turns slightly toward the open stretch of kitchen beside them and calls up the memory in a shimmer of light. From where she had been treading water, pointing at him from the pool’s edge, the replay is perfectly clear: Kaisel stands at the side of the pool, triumphant and dry; Flora lifts her hand in warning; then, without anyone visibly touching him, he suddenly jerks forward and sails headlong into the water. Spice is positioned directly behind him, her pale little body almost entirely hidden by his shoulders, and from Flora’s angle it looks for all the world like he simply loses his footing and hurls himself in. The memory loops once, neat and damning, before dissolving.
Turning back to him, Flora lifts her brows again, the look composed enough to suggest she has just presented irrefutable evidence before a very serious court. Her mouth twitches at one corner, though, because she knows precisely how ridiculous the argument is. "I didn’t touch you," she says, sweet and certain. "You jumped in."
and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this
