i could be the reason you can't sleep at night
The fire breaks itself into chasing lines, and Flora takes one look at the ember-bright cords flickering at her heels before deciding that dignity is, in fact, wildly overrated before ditching her choice to zig-zag and merely hauling ass instead.
There’s no prettier way to think about it, not when the sand is dragging at every step and her lungs are starting to burn in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with Deimos’s magic. Flora sprints across the beach as hard as she can, curls flying, arms pumping, the entire careful picture of herself as Torchline’s graceful queen abandoned somewhere behind her with her shoes and clipboard. The flames don’t catch her, but they look as though they might, and that’s more than enough to keep her moving with a sharp, breathless sort of panic that would be less embarrassing if she weren’t also having an incredible time.
By the time she reaches the damp-packed sand near the water, her legs are making several persuasive arguments for immediate betrayal. Flora flings both hands up as if calling the whole thing before her knees hit the beach, and then she’s laughing and panting hard enough that the sound comes out tangled together. Her chest rises and falls quickly, but when she twists to look back at Deimos, the grin she shoots him is bright and unmistakable. Alive, unburned, extremely dramatic, and regrettably delighted.
A wave rolls in close enough to save her from having to pretend she isn’t winded. Cupping her hands into the water, Flora splashes it across her chest with a sharp inhale, letting the coolness cut through the heat in her skin as she tries to catch her breath. "Damn," she calls once she can manage actual words again, still grinning as she pushes damp curls away from her face. "If I had that chasing me in the morning for my runs, I’d set a personal best every damn day."
4/4
There’s no prettier way to think about it, not when the sand is dragging at every step and her lungs are starting to burn in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with Deimos’s magic. Flora sprints across the beach as hard as she can, curls flying, arms pumping, the entire careful picture of herself as Torchline’s graceful queen abandoned somewhere behind her with her shoes and clipboard. The flames don’t catch her, but they look as though they might, and that’s more than enough to keep her moving with a sharp, breathless sort of panic that would be less embarrassing if she weren’t also having an incredible time.
By the time she reaches the damp-packed sand near the water, her legs are making several persuasive arguments for immediate betrayal. Flora flings both hands up as if calling the whole thing before her knees hit the beach, and then she’s laughing and panting hard enough that the sound comes out tangled together. Her chest rises and falls quickly, but when she twists to look back at Deimos, the grin she shoots him is bright and unmistakable. Alive, unburned, extremely dramatic, and regrettably delighted.
A wave rolls in close enough to save her from having to pretend she isn’t winded. Cupping her hands into the water, Flora splashes it across her chest with a sharp inhale, letting the coolness cut through the heat in her skin as she tries to catch her breath. "Damn," she calls once she can manage actual words again, still grinning as she pushes damp curls away from her face. "If I had that chasing me in the morning for my runs, I’d set a personal best every damn day."
4/4
