[ She settles back to admire her work. It's a little crooked, not quite perfect, but she's still charmed to see those flowers, the flowers of her home on Peter's head.
(In the back of her mind, something insists that those flowers don't exist anymore. This isn't quite right.) ]
They suit you.
[ It's a mild sort of compliment, but it takes the shape of one, nonetheless.
She feels... less jagged here, that nostalgic warmth curling in her chest, and she feels that same comfort she did as a child. That delight that came with waking when the moons had risen to join her family in the evening air and enjoy these flowers – she knows it again here, where before she'd thought the memory of those emotions had faded into little more than, well, a dream. ]
no subject
(In the back of her mind, something insists that those flowers don't exist anymore. This isn't quite right.) ]
They suit you.
[ It's a mild sort of compliment, but it takes the shape of one, nonetheless.
She feels... less jagged here, that nostalgic warmth curling in her chest, and she feels that same comfort she did as a child. That delight that came with waking when the moons had risen to join her family in the evening air and enjoy these flowers – she knows it again here, where before she'd thought the memory of those emotions had faded into little more than, well, a dream. ]