i'm a pretty flower girl
check out my pretty flower curls

The hospital was a hum of activity. Upon the air drifted the scent of medicines, or plants Florentine could not name and remedies she had never seen before. Such smells stung her nose and others carried her into a whimsical sleep, stealing her pain, her energy.
 
Ah what a first night it had been when the flower boy left. Pain heated her skin to fever pitch. Sweat itched along her skin, turning the soft of her cushions to abrasive claws that scratched at her tender flesh.
 
When had she been so useless? When had she lain unable to move. Her mind soared where her fractured wing could not. It wandered through memories and daydreams made by herbs and flowers. In and out of a river of unconsciousness she drifted, awake and asleep. Oh how masterful pain was, it stole her energy, kept her weighed down by its anguishing dominance. Obediently she awoke with it and fell with it too. Ah it held her trapped and it made her dance as it lulled her to sleep and back again.
 
A wreathe of forget-me-nots lie upon the table beside her, their petals fallen upon her outstretched wing. Oh they are stark against her golden skin. When did they fall? And did they descend like tears, for they lie like teardrops, blue as the ocean. Florentine might have cried an ocean, if she could remember, if she could find the truth that lay hidden in layers of shock and trauma.
 
Slowly, slowly, her eyes flutter open and drink in the verdant hospital. Vines, laden with healing plants, crawl across every wall and up every step and staircase. All around her are memories of Lysander – for she remembers him now, in the spaces between her sleep and her pain, he lingered there, waiting to be remembered. And how could she ever truly forget?
 
Her head turns and there, beside her, the once empty bed is now taken. Breath traps itself in her lungs for her eyes are full of sandy skin and horns long and black, arched like scythes for the sky. That skin, oh it is so familiar and yet… Yet Florentine stares at the hair of this girl, it is so much and so strange, so different.
 
It is in silence that the dusk girl gazes at the mare and thinks of all the ways her dusty skin and obsidian horns reminds her of her dam. But Karou never had long hair and the eyes of a tiger do not peer out from the shadows. Ah, Florentine’s mother was not here. Disappointment is a bitter taste upon her tongue and her pain rises in anguish. The terrible gash upon her limb bleeds tears she cannot.
 
What it would be to just turn over, to close her eyes and sleep for a millennia! Yet Florentine is too weighed down in pain. To move is to be struck again by claws of fire and a fist of stone. So she lays still and instead swallows deep her pain and sets her gaze curiously upon the cream girl beside her. “And how have you ended up here too?”

@Annabeth <3 and any others who may wish to join us!

florentine
rocking your pretty flower world

If there is one thing Annabeth despised, it was being idle. From the moment she fell mud stained and weak upon the floors of the hospital all she had been allowed to do was "rest." At the moment, the healers were only concerned with Anna's physical well-being. They couldn't possibly know what all that free time would do to her mentally. From the moment Anna had been enslaved, she had been careful not to think overlong about anything at all. She kept herself occupied with backbreaking chores, braiding manes, and badgering other slaves into staying alive. Her old life didn't enter into the equation and sometimes, if she was really dedicated, she could even pretend that this wasn't even slavery! That the despair on her dearest Eliza's face wasn't real and Anna could just smile their worries away.

Left alone with her thoughts and memories, Anna was desperately distracting herself by counting all the leaves she could see. It was a prodigious task as the hospital seemed to be made entirely from trees and vines. The ceiling was a tight mesh of branches adorned with leaves that kept even a single drop of water from landing on the patients below. A few sported flowers (which Anna had already counted) that released a soothing scent into the air and somewhat masked the smell of antiseptic. The walls and floors confused the simple farm girl as she couldn't figure out if they were made of planks or if somehow the tree had grown them flat? Perhaps it had something to do with this magic stuff she kept hearing about. Regardless, Anna was entirely preoccupied and unprepared for the melodic, slightly pained, voice which rose from the cushions to her right.

"Seventy-seven...!" Anna blurted out as she turned toward her companion and began to blush furiously, "There, there are seventy seven leaves in that half of the room..." She finished lamely, her counting abruptly startled out of her thoughts and into the air. 

Embarrassed, Anna tucked her nose into one of the crevices between her pillows and peeked at the mare spread out next to her. Flowers, amethyst and sapphire, were strewn across her mane and wings, adorning her like a fairy queen. It made Anna's own dull, sun bleached coat and brittle tresses seem even dingier in comparison. Even Anna's horns had withered to dry twigs due to malnutrition. That was alright though. Annabeth was used to being the less attractive one.

Anna recovered from her outburst with a sheepish smile as relief suffused her limbs. Counting leaves was alright and all, but talking to another patient was sure to be much more distracting. "I umm, I'm not quite sure actually." She responded to the unanswered question. Her tones had recovered from the worst of little use, but they were still a little rough around the edges. Clearing her throat, Anna continued, "I was shipwrecked and somehow made it into this place with all the trees and muddy ground?" She referenced the swamp, though she didn't know it's name, "Then I think I was probably dying, but a mare led me here. At least I think... I haven't seen her since and she might have been a part of my imagination..." Brow squinched, Anna tried to remember. "There were a bunch of lilies too and I think she was making them grow..." These memories were safe, not painful, so it was ok to try to recall them. 

Anna's eyes refocused on the mare next to her and she started as she remembered her manners. "Oh! My name is Annabeth, by the by. Though most folks just call me Anna." It felt good to smile after so long.