REICHENBACH'S BAE
Snow falls, tumbling down, down between the rising lamps. The midnight sky glows black and gold and flickering white. A hundred lamps fly away with the ending year, chased by wind and memories.
The flower girl stands upon the edge of the cliff. She watches her petals drift over the swelling sea and down through a thousand falling snowflakes. Snow falls into her lashes, into her hair and paint her kingdom as white as day.
Stars and moons and galaxies dance through shifting light. There is nothing still in Terrastella this night and even as she shivers, even as her breath curls like dragon smoke, Florentine smiles.
“Will you stay here?” She asks the mysterious boy beside her. Ever the girl with her heart upon her sleeve, Flora does not even think to hide the yearning from her voice, the too-keen glimmer in her eye. “I have just got you back… I would hate to wait until another sea dries up until I see you again.”
The waves crash angrily below them, and her eyes lift from their frothing, fretting waves to the boy with his red, red antlers. She is gazing at them, when from between their tines, the dusk girl glimpses a gold and white more pure than the shifting skies. Shadows and night curl and weave behind it.
Her attention focuses back upon Lysander as she smiles, heeding the call of shadows, stars and infinite skies. “Come, I have someone for you to meet!”
Feathers and lips brush his side, in a nudge and a sigh. With smiles and laughs she pulls her flower boy on through the tangle of bodies and on to another boy she has not seen in what felt like so, so long. She has become a queen since she saw him last, and learned to bear its weight with trepidation. And he – oh where has he been?
Florentine flies to him like a butterfly might, its journey true but its path fluttering hither and thither.
Her wayward heart is a tattoo within her chest and it is just enough to hear Isorath’s voice above the festival din and the trembling of her blood. Her butterfly ways had lead her and Lysander behind them, and only then do her eyes fall on how close they are and the play of his words.
Coy smiles and playful words, they are all things she knows but…
Was that her heart stumbling and her breath catching? Was that the stutter of stars and the sputter of lamps that flee the shore; they know and her heart begins to awaken too.
It remembers and with such terrible beats it remembers Aislinn’s tears and Bexley’s angry words.
It sings their songs into her veins until she is wildfire gold in this festival night.
Terrible, fickle, fitful heart. She wears her smile like a mask as her eyes drift back to Lysander. She needs vines to tether her soul to the earth and might he, a boy of flowers and mysteries, possess them?
From the nearby throng of bodies, Flora steps, swathed in dusk-hewn light, and her mask does not fail her. Her anxious heart, a flighty bird within her chest, does not fail her.
“I hope not.” She says to Isorath, so softly, too softly. There is a wariness within the curve of her skin and she makes herself soften with smiles, with the snow that tumbles and tumbles and turns all to white, unblemished. “I have only just made you my regent.” Her eyes trail over the kirin and then to her boy of stars and night stood so close. Had their intimate moment, broken by her? Oh traitorous, questioning heart – would Bexley be proud?
Florentine’s lashes flutter against her cheek, hiding a feeling she cannot bear to name. When they open they seek Lysander and her breath is thin as ice. “I brought a friend to meet you both.” She says to her Night King and her Regent. Slender limbs, sunset gold and winter dirtied, step back to draw Lysander in. “Lysander,” She breathes with eyes too wide and hidden too late, “Meet Reichenbach, the King of the Night Court and Isorath… my regent.”
@Isorath @Reichenbach @Lysander
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
