She sees the way his smile broadens and his eyes lighten as though her knife were the sun and his face the mirror. He glows in the presence of her knife and Flora’s smile is as broad as his. The girl is delighted, for who could not be when her most prized possession was looked upon with such adoration?
“It is rather special is it not?” Florentine chirps, filled with pride. Her body thrums with delight and yet the sliver of sadness is a poison she cannot help but feel. It whispers to her, potent and heart-wrenching:
I cannot time-travel, it bleats. The voice is softer, no longer a piercing cry that split her heart in two. Now, now it merely is a tear that trickles down the red of her heart, its path is acid, its path is as sharp as the blade she holds before Stephan.
His eyes are wild and canine, predatory and dangerous. She chooses to look at the fine detailing of her knife as she muses softly to the boy before her, “Claire.” She tries the name on for size, “Doesn’t have quite the poetic ring I would consider fitting for a blade, but I am pleased she has a girl’s name.”
Florentine turns to lead him through the swamp. She navigates their way through sucking pools of mud and stagnant water, through moss covered groves of fruit trees dying in the cold of impending winter. The air they drift through is sweet with death. She thinks of Winona until he stops her.
Stephan cannot hear the smile that curls her lips, but maybe he can hear it in her words. It is a smile of warmth and happiness of whimsical memories laden with dirt. Flora is pleased to blow the dust from these memories that she has not recalled for a long while.
“I have been something else. I was a human, a street urchin. They have a drink called beer, it was really quite tasty. I don’t like whiskey though, Kearn let me try it once –“ She pauses, casting Stephan an analyzing look. He seemed the kind that would enjoy it. “It was vile.” The flower girl concludes as she pushes on through vines and shrubs, her petals leaving a trail for the midnight boy to follow.
“So, will you give me your name Not-only-Only?” She feels the creep of his eyes upon her spine and Flora wonders if maybe she should have kept him within sight. But again, she was the girl with the blade and all he had was her feather… She presses on, her pace never wavering.
“Oh no, I to not find it hard to believe. I am impossible not to follow. It’s the petals, see?” A flick of her tail and the petals scatter like leaves to mark her path. “They do not allow for any sneaking.” It was also how Reichenbach found her that fateful night in the temple. She wasn’t sure whether she should celebrate her petals or berate their wayward manner.
She gave us this. Florentine stops, turning to survey exactly what ‘this’ is. Her eyes befall the scar upon his neck and silence drags between them. It pulls tighter, tighter, tighter. “So you are infected,” Florentine breathes at last. “Do you want to bite me? Is that why you followed me?” Amethyst holds him tight, her gaze relentless as she surveys this boy before her, obsidian bright and wild and so, so dangerous.
You are as beautiful as the blade you carry, but I am sure Only has told you that. The way my heart beats makes me think you have known each other for some time, now.
She blinks a slow, slow blink. As if her eyelids could act as a shield to his words. Her nose wrinkles, displeasure casting her ears towards her poll. They never quite make it and Flora sighs softly. “He hasn’t and we haven’t known each other much. Only two meetings, once elsewhere and once here…” She looks everywhere but at the murderous boy before her. Her fringe lowers to shield her eyes, awkward shyness ebbing its way into her being.
The flower girl was no longer sure how to handle the affections of others, not after she had seen how much unrequited love could hurt. “It doesn’t beat with affection… does it?” It is a whisper question, barely heard over the lapping of the near-still waters, for fear of the answer.
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★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★