flora
The Sugartide rests where Flora has brought her down along the pale edge of the island, close enough that the tide occasionally reaches beneath her hull without threatening to tug her back out to sea. Flora leaves her there while she works her way along the beach, scattering the last handful of seashells among those she’s already arranged across the sand. Each has been carefully cut into the shape of a star, their polished surfaces catching the light until the shoreline glistens as though some small constellation has fallen here and decided the macabre little island could use the improvement.
By the time she’s finished, the bottle of wine is waiting beside two starry goblets, placed where the crimson growth nearby won’t be tempted to sample either them or her. Flora brushes the sand from her palms, glances over the shimmering path she’s made, and decides that it’s beautiful enough to outweigh the rather obvious question of why anyone would choose this particular beach for drinks with a goddess.
"I know this is a weird spot," she calls, lifting her face toward the open sky with an expectant smile already pulling at her lips, "but hear me out."
By the time she’s finished, the bottle of wine is waiting beside two starry goblets, placed where the crimson growth nearby won’t be tempted to sample either them or her. Flora brushes the sand from her palms, glances over the shimmering path she’s made, and decides that it’s beautiful enough to outweigh the rather obvious question of why anyone would choose this particular beach for drinks with a goddess.
"I know this is a weird spot," she calls, lifting her face toward the open sky with an expectant smile already pulling at her lips, "but hear me out."
Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price
You know that I bought it
You know that I bought it
