From the corner of their little world she watched from the very edges, not hidden yet not quite close enough to make one's proper appearance. It was from that distance that she gazed on at the gathering that transpired, heart strung tight at knowing Florentine had already found the one that came calling. She could also make out the body of Morozko; she hadn't quite figured her feelings toward seeing him again, his first reappearance a grand gesture at their meeting. They hadn't spared a moment for proper conversation yet, so she didn't know anything about his reason for being in Novus after those years of last seeing him in the Winter Court.

But he was not the reason for her choosing to not approach, instead giving into the desire to simply watch as opposed to breaking through their conversation. A curiosity hung itself around her neck in wonder of how her court would greet strangers into their lands; Florentine looked the part of court royalty, though, as she included both stranger and fellow member in her musings. The dual cream and dark painted mare could hear none of their passing words, and so she watched intently instead.

The one who crossed into their borders pulled all attention onto himself, and Rann couldn't miss the jovial way he carried himself through all his actions. She didn't know which court he hailed from--scents and mannerisms were foreign to her of those not of her own Dusk. So he commanded her thought while she hung back, finding no reason to interrupt what was already underway.

And all our problems make us powerless

       Florentine had been navigating that wire-thin path between adulthood and childhood for some time now. She slipped between maturity and childish ways as readily as the sea below rolled up upon its beach and then away, back out to sea. But the tide was changing for Florentine. If it began with puberty it most certainly ended with Rannveig’s appointment of her to Emissary.

 
Maturity was the pull of the tide out into the sea of adulthood. But oh Florentine will not go gracefully into the boring sea of ‘grownupness’; she is too rebellious for that. She escaped the boring rigours of court life in her birth land and there was no space for sorrow in her heart. It has wings and it flies, it soars and refuses to be caught.
 
Florentine saw the strain ruling had put upon her father. This girl of flowers, this young woman of dusk and glimmering starlight, would carve her own path beneath the title of Emissary. Yet it has her gaze lingering a moment too long on Reichenbach as she wonders, no, hopes he would never lose this carefree, playful demeanour that called to her so.
 
It suits you better. Morozko had said of the flower she wound about his horn. Her eyes held his, purple dusk-light meeting the lunar glow of impending night. “That may be so,” She acquiesced but with a smile playing across her lips. It was a pleased, charmed little thing – as any woman would wear when complimented with flowers. “But a flower’s beauty extends itself to everyone.”
 
She had watched the wind tug at the flower she wound around Morozko’s horn. It had unraveled, snagged by the wind, and chased her petals over the cliff edge only to vanish, tumbling down, down to the sea spray below.
 
It was always painful to watch her flowers wilt or die and she is warning the Night Court’s boy-king not to lose his, when her eyes settle upon a familiar figure within the distance.
 
Damascus came with a voice so loud it would harken any ear. Behind him his tail billowed out, long and lustrous; a cathedral train of ebony silk. The tall colt’s voice sang Reichenbach’s name (well, his version of it), with such joy that Flora’s attention is cast back to the King of darkness and moonlight.  “Well aren’t you just winning hearts wherever you go.” She teased him lightly. “I am not sure you needed my flower to make you any more appealing.”
 
Then, and only then, as Morozko pulled away from their small number, did she notice Rannveig stood close. She moves closer to her queen, enough to bridge the gap between Reichenbach and his young colt-friend and Rannveig and Morozko. There is a moment, maybe only a split second, where Flora’s eyes flit between the two monarchs their Court line’s drawn with her stranded in between.
The butterflies of unease begin to flutter in her abdomen.
 
“Your majesties,” the young emissary begins at last, chasing away those nervous flutters with a smile and a welcoming glance cast from beneath her forelock at each gathered courtier. Her wings flare with a swan’s grace, one pointing to each monarch as she introduced them lightly, “King Reichenbach of the Night Court… and Queen Rannveig of the Dusk Court.” The girl paused, amethyst eyes dancing between them to flit away to Morozko and Damascus. “And these handsome boys, for any who might be wondering, are Morozko and I believe, Damascus.” Her lips twitch, though her eyes hold a hint of concern as she drinks in the colt. Florentine had never had a formal introduction with the young courtier, though the winds had more than once carried his name. It was unlikely she would find a colt so similar called Damascus and so she hoped her powers of deduction were on better form than her depleted dagger.


@Rannveig @Reichenbach @Morozko @Damascus

this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

The ease with which they conducted themselves made her imagine previous introductions and interactions had already been made; save for Morozko, who held himself with the caution of unfamiliarity. The mark of the Winter Court rested easily across his back, and she would dare admit to pride as she watched him. It was a soft coolness that strung the two of them together, not the harsh blizzards that claimed lives yet enough of a bite to keep themselves and their kin safe.

Her line of thought was only interrupted when the boy warrior dropped down to the small gathering; Damascus, who gave himself over easily to her despite not knowing who she was. His blind devotion was equally endearing and worrying, for one of such pure heart needed to protect himself if things turned down a thorned path--if she had not been a proper leader after all, would he have still served her cause simply because she was of Dusk? Yet even he held an air of confidence around the newest stranger in their lands, and she could only put trust in the idea of the bay man holding only good intentions, not threats.

It was Morozko who first noticed her solitary stance against the break in the earth, her colors settling themselves easily against the land and sky's horizon. He exchanged some sort of pleasantry with their visitor before setting of toward her, Florentine not far behind in action. With their approach she nodded her head to both of them, both a greeting and a thanks for upholding the values of Dusk well with a stranger. As her Emissary made way to break introductions, Rann only looked at Reichenbach. His eyes held on to the pegasus girl in a way that made her muscles twitch, but she remained still and merely continued observing.

The Night King carried himself with an ease that filled her with suspicion, and she couldn't tell if she admired or distrusted him for it; perhaps there were both finding their ways into the curves of her bones as she returned the slight bow, her for-now promise that he was welcome within their Dusk bodies. It seemed that at least two of their Courts were finding their way back into their Goddess' sights, and she wondered how the remaining fared with their Gods. Whereas Florentine cleared her throat to ease her way into making conversation, Rannveig simply broke silence with the cool touch of her voice. Words lilted into each other as her nordic accent rang strong, "Reichenbach. Vespera welcomes you."

It was the Night Court that she had first found herself seeking refuge when she crossed the borders of Novus from Veteris; she ran into the Autumn Court heir, Erynvale, and spent many moons with her and her court before travelling on to Dusk. She held the kindness of Erynvale and her people close to her heart, and so she would extend the gratitude toward Reichenbach until she felt he deserved otherwise. "It appears my court knows of yours more than myself." And whatever she meant by the statement she didn't explain, letting the words fall off while eyes never left the face of the Night Sovereign.

And all our problems make us powerless