florentine

All is still as the girl meanders slowly through the forest. How long had it been since she was last here? She asks the leaves and the bee that bumbles past. From all she knows the answer is: too long, too long.
 
The Dusk queen has been called many things: a nymph, a fae, a sprite… but never has she felt much like any of them. Today, however, walking through the cathedral of trees, with flowers twined within her hair, mud and grasses pressed against her long, limbs, gilded Florentine was as if drawn from any of those myths.
 
Twilight clings to her skin and glitters in her amethyst eyes. Beautiful, but bruised, the girl’s gaze lingers upon the dawn light, filtering through the trees. Delumine has barely begun to stir, though the crown of the sun just crests the horizon. All is still and silent, so silent.
 
Florentine reaches the border of the trees, where the river glistens and runs, capturing sunlight like jewels across its surface. Here, the sigh of leaves is replaced by the lazy bubble of chattering waters.
 
Spring has warmed the flowing waters and, as Florentine watches them pass, she thinks of new beginnings. The coming of spring had made her a year older, and Reichenbach, her heart tougher in kind. Delumine’s dawn whispered to her of a new life, and a future mapping itself out before her. But she knows its paths are varied and rough, their destinations unknown. Her feet were already sore and her body littered with bruises from walking them. But the girl was headed somewhere new.
 
And so, with a sigh, she steps into the water. It rises up, up, up her body and swallows the flower girl down, down, down. She moves out, deeper and deeper into the river, until her feet leave the bed and then she sinks down until the waters swallows her whole. Only flowers and petals remain, to slowly spin and dance along the surface.
 
In the muffled silence of the river Florentine is cleansed. The trials of her third year of life wash away. The girl who leaves the river then, is not the same who went in. Oh this girl of water and life is clean, at last, and bears a heart whose wounds that have lost their sting.
 
Petals and water droplets rain down from her slim torso, washing away downstream. So consumed, is Florentine, by her thoughts of renewal and cleansing, that she misses the nest beside the water’s edge. It is full of eggs and crowned with doting parent. But all are now soaked with river water that pours from her golden skin.
 
The idyll of the morning – of the Dusk girl’s thoughts are shattered by an affronted, wailing quack. Tiny wings beat fiercely in the air as the soaked duck leaps from her nest. With a squawking battle cry it launches itself at its assailant.
A stubby beak snaps at Flora’s slender ankles and its wings beat, beat, beat at her limbs. They become a tangle, the flower girl and her attacker. They are feathers and gold and startled cries.
 
“Oh, hey! Wait! Excuse me –“ Flora chimes and blusters as she skitters and scrambles up the bank and away. Yet the persistent bird pursues her with a furious bravery that Florentine might admire, were it not directed at her.
 
She edges away but the bird takes chase. Its beak closes again and again upon her tail, pulling flowers and golden hair from their resting places. “Ouch! How rude! I am sorry-” The flower girl exclaims, her face a painted picture of bewilderment. But, her protests are in vain. She is scrambling and the duckis chasing.
 
Even as Florentine takes to the sky, the bird relentlessly follows. Its small wings beat with admirable determination as it tried to keep pace with its fleeing quarry.
 
After the attack, Flora might be embarrassed by the blissful wash of relief she feels at suddenly spotting a familiar flash of gold further along the river’s banks... But for now, she basks in the presence of her saviour. Wide, wide amethyst eyes, remain glued upon her friend as she swoops down to him, her duck-assailant in hot pursuit.
 
The girl lands, and, still soaked, still with her mane clinging to her slender neck, she steps nimbly and swiftly behind Somnus’ larger body. From around her new shield she peers at the the duck. It has landed a few feet from them, watching the girl and Delumine’s king with a decidedly disapproving glare. Eventually, disgruntled, it turns and retreats, flying elegantly and silently back to its nest.
 
A sigh of relief pours like wine from her lips. “Somnus.” Flora chimes, “You didn’t tell me your ducks were quite so… fierce.

@Somnus - here, have a duck and a Flora! 
 

florentine
A thousand droplets rain down from her to quench the earth below. The ground darkens as it drinks the rain falling from the Dusk girl’s skin. It was the only sound, that gentle pattering, as the girl and the boy fall as still as statues of gold beneath the duck’s Medusa eyes.
 
The moment of stillness still echoes with the sound of her name from Somnus’ lips. Its ghost, still echoing his surprise, weaves between them, but Flora dares not answer from her place behind the Dawn King.
 
She wonders if his heart beats as fast as hers beneath their still-still skin. A smile forms within her and upon her. It is a gentle curling of golden lips that only just hold back her laughter. A brave girl she has become, protected from a duck by a friend.
 
Her slender neck curls about his rump and her cheek presses against his skin as she whispers softly, playfully, “Dusk owes you it’s allegiance for your protection, my King.” And it may be the first time the girl has acknowledged her friend as a fellow monarch. Yet such things were less important than the matter at hand and Florentine’s gaze of lilac and speckled orange, slides back towards the duck from where it has rested upon the outline of Somnus’ owl.
 
With a flare of soundless wings, the bird is gone, swooping down towards the duck. Her cry still echoes in the air and claws its warning at Florentine’s ears. Together the duo fly away, the duck no longer the assailant, but prey, caught beneath the unwavering gaze of Alba’s consuming, black eyes.
 
Somnus turns and Flora’s gaze falls from the disappearing silhouettes of his owl and her quarry. Through the rivulets of water still trailing down her slender face, the fae-girl watches her friend. Her smile is wide and brilliant, a mirror to the hazy gold of the morning sun. They both promise something to come, something hidden in the secrets of the dawning day.
 
Florentine knows nothing but warmth as his muzzle touches hers. They are gold against gold and the cold wet of her skin serves as a balm between them. Her eyes linger on the droplets of water that now cling to him as he steps back. Same as hers, the they shatter light like diamonds might. Was there anything in Delumine that was not beautiful and touched by a light so new and pure?
 
River water glitters in her golden lashes and through the tangled tendrils of her fringe, she peers at this boy turned king. His eyes trail over her with a reason the girl recognizes. Obediently her wings flare beneath his gaze and her eyes map out the contours of her skin, her feathers, her limbs. “I am quite well.” She concludes lightly, for there is no pain in her - but the ache of a heart sewn together with needle and thread.
 
It is a mistake to look back at Somnus, but she does. He tangles her in green: leaves and vines and grasses. Those eyes are soft and sweet and familiar and the fae-girl looks away. To linger there, snarled in a forest deep and thick, is to remember a boy who does not wake from his beatings, no matter how she begs him. It is to remember the warmth of a friend, this friend and she fears she might bury him too with her sorrow… So the river welcomes the amethyst of her, it cools her like it had when she bathed only moments before, shedding her sins before the god of Delumine. The water washes the green of the boys away but, greedy and desperate, Flora’s eyes close to better trap Somnus’ and Lysander’s green within her a little longer.
 
Maybe the Dusk Queen should be embarrassed for being so wet and disheveled before Delumine’s King, but as she steels herself and returns her gaze to him, there is no shame in her eyes. “I did not know bathing in the river was enough to inspire their wrath.” Then her lips tip up and her eyes darken with mirth. From beneath the gold of her fringe she casts him a look and, oh it is one she has cast him so many times before. It is one for him and her alone and it promises the essence of them.
 
“You were much braver just now than when we were facing down that cat in the maze…” Florentine observes with a wicked smile. Her smile remains, inviting him, for he was not the only one afraid that day, nor this. Cats and ducks and elusive dolphins are all they are, bound together with Ulric.
 
Light as a nymph the girl steps around Somnus until her shoulder presses against his gilded side and her chin rests across his spine. Flora is quiet for a moment as the silence fills them with the peace of the river, of his kingdom. “I think being a king suits you, Somnus. May you be a better king than I a queen.” And all those words are, are whispers that trickle from her lips and fall across his skin to find their way between them.
 
She thins she should curtsey before him. She thinks she should not have confessed herself a failing queen. But the flower girl makes no move to rectify any of those things, but presses closer to this boy as, not a king, but her friend and, above all, of course, her Duck Knight.

@Somnus Gosh, sorry, this turned into a novella! <3