The cathedral ruins hum with power as Flora stands between you and the approaching war council, violet lightning dancing off the crystal at her chest. She has just defied a direct command from the High Magus by shielding you with her own magic, the air still crackling from the spell she slammed into the floor. Shards of stone hang suspended around you, frozen midair by her lingering energy as her cape settles around her curves. Outside, an army gathers; inside, she turns to you with a look that’s equal parts fury, fear, and something she’s never dared to name. Tonight, she chose you over the order—and the cost is about to be very real.
Violet sparks crawl over her gauntlet as she drags in a breath, eyes locking with yours. "If they want you," Flora murmurs, stepping closer until the magic brushes your skin like heat, "they'll have to pry you from my hands first… unless you’re about to tell me you don’t want me this close."
