There was a smell. The Dusk girl’s nose wrinkles and her eyes fall to the spot the Night Warden awkwardly shuffles from. If the future had heralded any hint that this would happen, Florentine does not display it. Rather, a soft exclamation passes her lips, her head tossing lightly as her fringe tumbles forward to shield her eyes.
Between the tangle of threads and amethyst flowers she watches Rostislav. Relief sweeps into her veins when he affirms he has not come with Reichenbach’s business. It was short lived, however, for a damnable part of her still aches for his love. If Reichenbach sent no news - did not come to find her – did that mean he did not care at all anymore? Her eyes close against the thought, hurt burning in her chest.
Yet after the Night King’s actions, his hypnosis, Florentine did not wish to be anywhere near him. Such conflicted feelings have the flower girl tied in knots. They have her heart bleeding for too many things – those it desires and those it does not.
Rostislav had not expected such an entrance... Unable to stop herself, Florentine’s eyes sweep down to the offending dropping. She blinks before her head tips up. “Apparently so.” There is a smile that threatens at the corner of her lips. A laughter that bubbles in her throat and it is, all at once, such a relief and a hurt to laugh with a Denoctan again.
Florentine stops the smile and its laugh before they can truly take hold, before the tears (born of anger and betrayal) hiding behind her eyes, begin to fall. “Come, Rostislav, if you have so many questions we had better find a more comfortable place.” The flower girl turns, leading him on through the swamp, away from the smell. Ahead is a boarded walkway, leading out into an open expanse of swampland. Her feet clack over the boards and her amethyst gaze peers back over folded wings to check he is still behind her. Not that he could possibly lose her, for petals fall to make a trail in her wake.
Florentine stops in the open, lifts her eyes to the sky and the sun that shines down upon her golden skin. She begs for strength and that Lysander is still alive. The moment passes in the beat of a heart and she turns to the Night Warden.
“Firstly, you asked after Weir… I am sorry, Rostislav, we have not seen her for a while now. I know you were both close and so, for all our sakes, I hope she will return to us soon.” Flora’s eyes drift out across the swamp. There were so many she wished would return soon, and as she looks into the shadows, she almost hopes to see them returning.
“As for surprising you, I am sorry. I recently got my dagger’s magic back.” She raises the gilded blade hung about her neck. “It allows me to travel anywhere in Time or space but cutting between worlds. I hope next time won’t take you so much by surprise…” A small smile, shy and quiet fleetingly drift across her lips.
But then, she could avoid his other reason for coming no longer. Her eyes closed, golden lashes pressing against her cheeks. Anger awoke like flames within her chest. She ached and a shiver rocks through her body, she can still feel the press of Reichenbach’s magic both wonderful and controlling. So terribly controlling. “What is it you wish to know? Or more specifically, should I ask: what is it you have already been told?”
@Rostislav
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
