florentine
Night ebbed in, shadows creeping forth across the fields. Twilight light brushed across the skies with hues of teal and gold. The clouds were lazy and restful, idly drifting their way towards the sun.
 
It was of no surprise then, that the world below also slipped so steadily into slumber. Grasses became more shadowed, dusk flies gathered in groups, dancing to a song only they could hear.
 
All was still. All was peaceful, but for the buttercream girl who dances through the meadow. How many times had she danced here? How many grasses already recognized her nimble feet and slender legs? How many flowers turned with sleepy eyes to watch the flower girl pass by, adorned in the colours of their meadow?
 
This gloaming is no different tonight and the girl still dances, her eyes upon the growing starlight. She dances for her heart is heavy and she begs her limbs to be light where it cannot. She dances for she fears, if she were to stop, she may turn to stone – so heavy is she with sorrow.
 
There is a song upon the wind, a melody Flora cannot name and does not know. It puts wings beneath her limbs, lightens her step and chases the sorrowful, ghostly words from her mind: he will never be able to love you, and now, neither will I.
 
Bexley’s words ebb away for the aching beauty of the meadow song and Florentine turns, all gold and flowers, to pursue the voice that eases her so. There is a boy ahead, as pink as the sunset sky, but unlike that bold, bold sky, he is soft and hesitant. He lingers beyond the song, close enough to hear, far enough away to guard himself.
 
The girl, the emissary, ever keen to draw her people together, slips beside him, a wing running along his side, as soft as the petals that tumble from her mane. Amethyst eyes gleam at him as she passes, owl soft, “Come, I think we both need some peace tonight.” Her smile is bright, but it is only shimmering gauze across a black chasm of worry.
 
Florentine turns to the other girl of butterscotch and cream. The song from the girls lips beckon her down and her eyes flee from the music girl, for just a moment, to watch that the boy of pink comes to truly join them.  “Don’t let us disturb you, you sing too well for that.” Dusk’s Emissary chimes to Maude as she too finds rest amidst the somnolent grasses.

@Maude @Jude aah what a cute gathering!

florentine

The grasses tickle at her knees as she brushes a wing along the pink boy’s side. As if the touch of Flora’s feathered wing was the stare of Medusa’s eyes, he turns as firm as rock. Where once his skin was soft and supple and so, so warm, now he is hard and unyielding; a sculpture forged from fear.
 
She paints the boy with amethyst as her eyes drift over him with silent curiosity. Never had she known such fear – enough that it could bind and paralyze - for Florentine has always been too brave, too bold and too wild.
 
She settles beside the young singer, the hazy sunlight to Maude’s own rich gold. The grasses, spun in moonlight and starlight begin to sway, as readily moved by the evening breeze as the clouds across the sky. When the younger girl finishes her song, even after Florentine’s appeal, the flower girl feels its loss. She hears the sigh of the fields, its many voices rising up to fill the spaces left by Maude’s melody.
 
“Don’t let Denocte steal you away.” Florentine says at last with a smile as her amethyst gaze, limned in gold and orange, trickles across the fine carvings of the evening’s singer. “They enjoy the company of those who can sing. I should hate to start a war over you.” Never has that playful smile slipped from her golden lips, not once has the mischievous gleam snuffed out from her eyes.
 
YES. Florentine startles.
 
Through her thick, thick fringe of flowers and gold, the Dusk girl peers up to the rose boy, the fields still singing with his bleat. “Well,” she chirps, quite astounded by the way the boy slipped from stone to… loud, in a matter of moments. “Welcome. Both of you.” Florentine’s gaze lingers thoughtfully upon Jude for a moment longer before slipping away like water, to pool again within Maude’s eyes, “I am not so new, but still new-ish I suppose. My name is Florentine, I am the Emissary here.”

@Maude <3 @Jude <3

florentine

They were quite a trio. This hesitant boy with delicate, feminine curves and lips and eyes so shy. Florentine blinks as she surveys him and then Maude with her wet, wet cheeks and smile that swept sweetness and sorrow into a tangle. Beside them, upon her place of bedded down grass, Flora is a sister piece of Maude’s own smile.
 
Between the three of them, made of terrible pasts and memories of those they can no longer see, walk ghosts unseen but tangible by the fear and sorrow they leave upon their hearts.
 
Oh she still misses the young girl’s singing, even if it was a song for the tears that dry slowly upon caramel cheeks.
 
Denocte?
 
It is a question and draw’s Florentine’s gaze from where it had slipped away towards the setting sun. “Yes. Have you not been?” Surprise colours its way through the flower girl’s question and she thinks it quite a shame that one might not ever see Denocte with its bonfire heart.
 
“Have you?” She asks the boy with coral skin and tines like porcelain. “If not, I shall have to take you both. Where we are made with the shiver of awakening stars, they are made of moons that never sleep. They dance when we sleep and light the world with flames. If you enjoy singing, Maude, we should go.”
 
Jude. Had the flower girl not heard his name in passing before and known him to be a boy, the she might have assumed otherwise. His skin has darkened to a rosy blush in the gloaming and the light is falling from the sky and shrouding them in darkness.
 
Slim and delicate, Jude lowers himself to the ground, his body finding rest with little more that a sigh of twilight breath. “I am afraid it is not as comfortable here as Isorath’s cushions but the grass is really quite pleasant and the sun is nearly gone. We should enjoy it whilst it lasts.” Florentine looks from the boy of porcelain and petals, to the girl of songs and honey and then out, out to the bleeding-heart sky.

@Maude @Jude this is all just too sweet!