florentine


Pavetta wonders of her family. A father that she might never see and a mother she cannot not bring herself to worry for.
 
They are similar, then, these two girls. Florentine had stumbled upon Novus, stepping through a rift opened by her dagger. But once she was here, the magic of her blade (to open a window into any world) leeched away into this magic-less air. That window was long ago closed, its seam thoroughly healed, by the time the flower girl realized her time-travel magic was gone.
 
So, maybe it is fitting that Florentine arrives through a portal as Pavetta is searching for her own. In the moments before they meet, Flora stands still as stone. She is a gold statue of finely carved limbs and a delicately sculpted face. Her hair is the part of her most alive and it ripples like a banner in the sigh of the winds drifting through the open portal.  
 
Slowly the window’s seams begin to meet and knit. They close the two worlds off from each other, and even when the warmth of that breeze is gone, Flora still does not stir. Not until the stranger comes, that is.
 
Florentine turns her golden head; a statue suddenly brought to life and her close and open in a steady blink. It is not just her wings that capture the dewdrops of this day’s dawn, but her lashes too.
 
Where the Dusk girl is the gold of the day, a herald of the rising sun, Pavetta is the final throes of the moon. She is everything stern and blunt; her hair shorn so unerringly level. Even the lines that march down her limbs are rhythmic in their intervals and curl like snakes about each leg. Pavetta’s horn threatens to pierce the sky and bleed the sun so the moon might shine just a moment more upon the silver of her skin. But Pavetta is not all silver. A rose’s blush colours the ends of her hair and paints her scars a fractious pink.
 
It might have been any one of these that would hold the Dusk girl’s attention, but it isn’t. Rather, it is Pavetta’s bold eyes that pierce Flora with their unwavering strength. It is those eyes that tell the tales of the scars littering the Dawn girl’s body.
 
Florentine’s lavender gaze, petal soft, slides down the scar that runs over the stranger’s face. It lands upon the eye that intercepts the mark like a jewel upon a pearl-pink string.
 
Petals swirl between the girls and reach for the newcomer of pearl and moonlight, snagging themselves within her mane. Yet others drift over her spine and then are lost.
 
An ear rises through its tangle of golden hair and wild flowers and it captures Pavetta’s question. Her words draw a smile across Flora’s lips. “I do not know,” The flower girl admits so gently. “But you are here, so maybe it is you I am waiting for.”
 
And again Florentine looks to Pavetta with a gaze that falls over the dark of stripes, trickles over the brightness of scars and succumbs to the soft shading of moonlight.
 
Finally the Dusk Queen draws her gaze back, and lets bruised purple meet with blushing mauve. Slowly, slowly the caramel girl’s head tilts, “If you believe in fate, that is. Do you?”

@Pavetta ~ Gosh that was so ick, I am sorry. The moral of the story is not to write when your body keeps trying to granny nap. xDD