Chapter Text
Most cities on Linphea are sculpted and crafted, not built. Linpheans have always strove to be as least intrusive and harmful as possible to the natural environment of their homeworld, and cities, despite their massive populations and complex needs, are no exception.
Flora is used to her cities breathing around her. Some walk, some float, some swim, some fly. All are alive, sentient in the way all plant life is, and all adapt as its people move and live and flourish within.
Cloud Tower is almost, for that reason, like being home. It is dark and oppressive and soaked in negative energy. Its personality is cruel at best and its intentions malicious at worst - but it moves and sways and breathes around her in the same way her parents’ dancing oaks have since she was an infant. Alfea is all cold stone and painfully trimmed grass; Cloud Tower, at least, is wild.
This does not make her any less uncomfortable in its halls, however.
Flora has, of course, practiced witch magic. It works beautifully with the more vicious of her favorite plants and she’s perfected her duplication potion with it; she sees a long and accomplished future ahead of her with foreign magic to experiment with.
She agrees, that it should not be such a frightfully guarded secret. Flora has always been at peace with protecting her home; but she has a baby sister who hasn’t yet grown into her wings at home, a baby sister whose dreams of travel and adventure and magic will be crushed by the weight her wings will carry.
Witchcraft will give Miele the future Linphea would take from her. For that alone, she’ll stand by it.
But - Cloud Tower is too far off the beaten path for her, too out of bounds and too steeped in misery for her comfort. She’s left the sneaking out to Bloom and Musa, preferring to wait patiently for recounts of adventures and to commiserate with Stella - who cannot risk being seen in Cloud Tower with her father’s ever-increasing dramatics hanging over her head. Tecna’s used her own magic to ward the secret pathways - to enter herself would be to undo that work and potentially expose them all to Headmistress Faragonda. Flora’s glad for her friends’ company, but it does mean she is the only available option when something stupid happens.
Like Musa leaving her fucking homework in the witches’ dorm.
“Are you really okay with all this?” Icy’s voice is amused, a little challenging. Flora’s hands pause above a pile of papers written in Musa’s hands, above a discarded tangle of earbuds and a worn backpack with seams lovingly repaired in rainbow thread.
She straightens, lets her hands drop down to her sides, and studies the witch in question.
“I am the fairy of nature. I have a very broad affinity, and a greater reach than most of my peers. I feel every living plant’s magic and soul as if it were my own. Not flowers, not trees, not a particular species of rare and deadly mushrooms. Everything.”
For all her attitude, Icy is patient while Flora organizes her thoughts.
“I garden in my spare time. I experiment on my charges. I have been taking lives for the betterment of more important plants, for plants that have not yet even been planted, since I was in diapers.”
Icy’s smile is a slow, jagged thing, but something in Flora eases at the sight.
“You’re a hunter, then?”
She can’t stop the startled burst of laughter the question evokes; not even a heartbeat later they are both laughing. It’s a sweet moment, and Flora finds herself genuinely touched by the witch.
Not all communities on Linphea hunt, of course - but the old ones do. The traditional ones. Fauna are protected on Linphea to a certain point - almost no one eats meat, and there are strict minimum population requirements to maintain the ecosystems. Violations are punished severely. But mantises still need to be hunted down, rogue wolves culled, gluttonous hares slain. Papa put a knife in her hand at four, his big, warm fingers closed around her own pudgy ones, and she’s been eating the hearts of her kills since.
Flora understands the need for ruthlessness just as she understands the need for choice. Which life does she value more; which outcome does she think better for her garden? The rose or the weed?
“Does the wizard know?” Icy eventually asks, once they’ve both calmed. Flora cannot help her immediate eye roll, although the slip up leaves her mortified.
“Oh, sweetie. If he were native he would. He likes the idea of Linphea better than the reality.”
Which is fine. Flora does not begrudge Helia his pacifism or his gentleness; she thinks his conviction on the matter and his devotion to his ideals are admirable.
If he could see her as an actual person or her home as an actual planet, that would be great.
“Musa said you were letting him take you out on dates.”
“I don’t feel bad, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s pretty, and he’s sweet. Just a little ignorant. And Riven’s alternative idea was to drug him whenever they needed to do anything.”
That Flora does not trust Riven’s ability to read dosage or safety instructions goes unsaid.
“Well. The minute he tries anything physical…” Icy trails off, and for the first time looks genuinely uncomfortable. Flora’s smile is soft; she hides her delight as best she can. Icy’s too skittish.
Papa is old old blood; so old that Flora and Miele have sap inked into the flesh above their spines. Mama’s newer, more modern - but she knew what she was getting into when she married Papa and, in fact, Mama’s more ferocious about enforcing those kinds of traditions than Papa.
“I’ve got a living blade for that, sweetie. But he won’t.”
Not for the first time, Flora acknowledges that hanging out with the witches more would be nice. She gathers Musa’s mess and hauls the suddenly very heavy bag over one shoulder. She doesn’t think it worth putting up with Cloud Tower’s whole aura, but - short trips like this would be fun.
Icy follows her to the door, and leans against its frame while Flora double-checks everything. She’s half-turning on her heel, distracted, when Flora feels Icy go suddenly rigid. Her attention snaps up to find an unfamiliar witch standing pale and visibly frightened in the hall, holding a -
“Oh.” Flora breathes.
“I need your help.”