It is colder here than she has ever known it. The winds howl, their voice haunting, their breath frigid. They weave between the girl’s feathers, her hair, her petals. They sink down to her skin and she is sure the frost begins to draw across her skin.
She steps from the edge she landed upon and folds her outstretched wings tight against her side. The wind swirls about her, tugging her mane hither and pulling petals away thither. All about her the winds speak and whisper and whine. But Florentine does not listen.
Her amethyst gaze fixates upon Vespera’s altar and from the outside of the temple it appears to only be sewn together with purple-pink shadow and the birth-light of early evening stars. Rannveig was supposed to bring her here once, to help her understand the gods: who were they, what were they?
Slowly the time-traveller girl steps forward, her dagger presses cold touches against her breast. One to remember one world, a second to remember another, on and on and on the dagger presses over her heart – a rhythm where each beat was the memory of a world she had visited. There were not enough steps for all the worlds she had seen and she is in front of Vespera’s altar before she breathes again.
She had met gods before. Seen their magic, learnt the laws of their world, their place, their time. But she had never worshipped them – Florentine was too free for that, no one place had ever stayed as home for long. Novus has suddenly become so filled with anomalies. She was never supposed to stay anywhere, yet here she was, held against her will by her beloved dagger that had lost its magic. Here she was, never a girl to want to follow in her father’s footsteps and yet, just like him, Florentine has found herself inadvertently charge of a Court.
The crown felt heavy, she knew it would.
Slowly her eyes close and she listens to the wind that continues to howl and wonders how to pray. Was it a silent thing? Was it spoken? What should she say?
“I don’t know whether you exist. I mean, I haven’t met you, I have met other gods and so I know they exist. Why have you left everyone?” She pauses, suddenly wishing she had been more hesitant. Each word had been filled with too much thought, too much consideration to ever be apologetic for her lack of belief.
“I seem to be sovereign and I am sorry I am not someone who believes – is that a bad thing? I guess you would prefer someone who believes…” The flower girl trails off, watching a petals that falls like a lament from her hair. She is not sure the lament is for Vespera so much as for her and her questionable ability to pray.
“Also, I want to apologise for coming to seek you out before but being distracted by Reichenbach instead.” A soft sigh escapes her lips as her gaze lifts from where it had fallen to the foot of the Dusk altar. She was not sure prayer was for her, it seemed awkward and like hard work, yet as sovereign and a girl with no ability of time travel, maybe now was the time to start to try and let the gods in.
He had never prayed before, and he most certainly had never made a journey of it. He tells himself it can’t hurt to try, if anything at least he’s covering more ground. He’s finding more places he can say Aion isn’t.
So he travels up the mountain. It’s a hard journey on foot, the terrain rocky and uneven. Icy, some of it, and slippery. Not to mention it’s cold—so, so cold. The wind doesn’t relent, even as it knives at his face, stinging his eyes and drawing tears. His ears are numb and his knees tremble. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, maybe he should turn back.
Can you even ask for something from a god you’ve never prayed to?
Eros had never considered himself religious, not really. At least not in the sense those he grew up with seemed to. His parents would take him to pray and he’d listen, he’d follow along, but he would never pray himself. How strange, it seemed to him, to talk to someone—something—you couldn’t see. Something he didn’t feel.
How are you supposed to believe in a god when bad things happen?
He reasons it’s who you turn to when there is no one left. Maybe that’s why he’s here.
Eros surveys the view. Beneath him the land expands, almost infinitely, it seems. He supposes if it weren’t for the curve of the earth or the clouds dense with moisture he’d be able to see forever. He thinks of Aion and his love for mountains. Is that why he likes them, for the view? Maybe they’d be able to come back together, one day.
That’s why he’s here—for Aion,—he reminds himself, turning to continue up the mountain.
As he reaches the top, he hears a voice. It’s quiet and unsteady in its conviction. Eros follows it, careful not to disturb it as it speaks. Places of worship are places of reverence, after all.
“Are you here to pray?,” he asks as she finishes. His voice is but a whisper upon his confession. “I’m, um, not familiar with the gods of this place.”
The winds moan with the coming winter. Its breath becomes heavy with cold and the promise of sleet. The chilled ache of joints creak against the impending snow. Upon the peak of the mountain, surrounded and enclosed by carved stone, Florentine listens to the push and pull of seasons as one begins to wax as the other begins to wane.
Yet here, Vespera’s altar holds the honey girl so riveted she does not hear the changeable weather. She does not hear the way the seasons drift by, nor the clip of feet upon the cold, cold stone.
She had been a frightened bird here once; a creature primed for flight with wings unfurled and a fly-away heart tethered only by a tenuous string of fraying gossamer. This day, however, sees the girl much quieter now. The temple listens to her rambling prayers and whisper them back to her from its lonely, darkened corners.
Above those whispering echoes and the sigh of passing winds, the flower girl does not hear the Daybreak boy until he is beside her with words strong enough to drown her repeating prayers.
Startled by him, his voice, his presence, Florentine peers up through honeyed hair and golden lashes to settle upon the gold of his septum ring and then onwards, up and up and up as though he were the mountain they had just scaled. Time seems to slow as she looks to him, her gaze broken only by a sheepish blink.
“Oh,” Florentine sighs with all the disappointment of a child and none of the assurance of a queen.. “Was that not praying?” Her gaze returns to Vespera’s altar, as if it may reveal to its unworthy worshipper just how she was supposed to give thanks.
The flower girl opens her mouth to ask of this Delumine boy (for how could she miss the scent of sun and woodlands and wilderness?) exactly how she was supposed to pray, but her lips are closed by his whisper. Such a confession draws a relieved huff from the flower girl. “Me either!” Florentine declares with a smile more relieved than it could ever be wicked. “I mean, I know the names of the gods…” And she does, for she sweeps a golden wing along each altar assigning it to its associated god. “But their names and their territories in Novus is all I know of them…”
Petals fall to the ground as even the whispering corners of the temple fall to silence at her words. Yet, never one to be too perturbed the young Dusk sovereign takes a step towards the stranger, her voice lowering into a conspiratorial whisper, “I am not even sure I believe in them… Do you?”
@Eros
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
“I mean, I’ve never seen it done like that before?” He thinks back to his youth, trying to remember what his parents had told him to say, how they had told him kneel, when they had told him to school his expression into something meant to resemble solemn respect, but had always felt like sorrow (and he supposes, in a way, he was grieving something). “I’m sure there are lots of ways to pray, though,” Eros reassures with a small smile. Maybe prayer can be hopeful.
His eyes follow as she gestures toward the gods’ altars, listing their names, and wonders which would be most receptive to his wish. She says she knows of only their names and lands, but he doesn’t have much anyone else to ask; he hopes she might have some scrap of knowledge for him.
Ideally, he would like to direct his prayer toward the most loving and caring deity, one likely to listen and sympathize. “Oh, so you don’t happen to, um—Do you maybe know what any of them value?,” he asks, fumbling with the question at first in his embarrassment at seeming needy, or thoroughly clueless. Eros doesn’t want her to think him daft or weak.
Sure, maybe that’s how he often feels these days: much more like the sad, awkward foal he had once been than the beautiful stallion he had thought he could grow into, but he doesn’t want her to know that. He wants to be independent and self-sufficient and to come across as so. The past few months have given him ample time to work on that, but it can be hard not to rely on others sometimes. “I do like to think there’s someone looking out for us, but I don't know.” Most of the time it’s just pretty lonely. thank you for being so patient ;u; <3
(also this isn't my best, but i did want to get something up for you)
01-20-2018, 04:06 PM
Played by
Obsidian [PM] Posts: 380 — Threads: 45 Signos: 25
Florentine blinks. Colour floods her golden cheeks, warm blood making them warm to touch. “Oh.” She exclaims softly, dismay and disappointment rolling over her like a wave. Had her first attempt at prayer had fallen quite so flat? Apparently so, Flora thinks, bemused.
The flower girl looks again to the surrounding altars. They stand quiet and shrouded, littered with the occasional gift and utterly silent in the still of the temple. There were still no worshipers to lead her by example and the altars themselves were as unhelpful as the first time she looked upon them for aid. Slowly Flora sweeps her gaze back up to the pale boy and for a moment they simply peer at each other. He was sifting through old memories of what he had been told about prayer, whilst Florentine began warming to the idea that: if prayer was clearly not her thing – did it mean she had to partake at all?
However, not one to be defeated upon her first attempt, the golden queen muses gently for a moment more before hedging softly, “Like what?” She asks of Eros quite unhelpfully. Maybe they could fumble their way through prayer together? Though the flower-girl cannot help but think they would be like ships upon an endlessly open sea without a compass.
Her breath escapes in a shiver that sways the silk cloth draped reverently over Vespera’s altar. Feathers, golden and grounded, drift along the marble floor with her errant petals, gathering at the foot of the religious table. The Dawn boy, as pale as the snow, draws her attention back to him. Did she know anything more than just the gods’ names?
Disappointed, Florentine shakes her head, her hair a beautiful disarray and her eyes just as tangled with thoughtful wonderings. “No, I don’t… Maybe we should have bought them a gift.” With a frown she spies the gifts upon the altar: dried flowers and rich cloth, perfumes, oils… The more she looks, the more Flora sees dusty offerings beside fresh, glowing gifts. “We could have a look at what other people have brought for their deities though…” She takes a step away from Vespera’s shrine and on towards Calligo’s. At the Night goddess’ altar were more flowers but also fruit and perfume. “I am not sure it matters what they like?” The girl asks softly warily, her eyes catching in corners of the temple that seem to move with the shadows. Maybe it did matter…
“I have met gods before, in other worlds. But, having been to so many different worlds with different gods I cannot help thinking that they are just like any of us. Is the only difference that their magic is more powerful than we could possess?” She pauses, weighing the words upon her tongue. They were heavy, oh so heavy. Florentine peers back at the snow-white boy, his own lack of confidence buoying and softening her own. “Why should we worship them just for possessing stronger magic? It seems wrong.” Flore breathes, her eyes glittering in the dark. She may not wish to worship them, but she would try, even through her jumbled thoughts.
Maybe she was just understanding it all wrong…
“No one in this lifetime has seen Vespera, or any of the other gods… what if they are all just made of stories?” And just like that the queen dares to blaspheme, albeit with wide eyes and a racing heart.
@Eros
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
He wants to will her not to be embarrassed or disheartened, reassure her that he’s not an expert, let alone even from this continent, but she looks to him hopefully and asks ‘Like what?’, and he can’t bring himself to disappoint her any further. “Um, well, my parents would always kneel, like this,” he explains and lowers himself to his knees to demonstrate as he speaks, “and close their eyes and bow their heads. Then they’d recite a prayer and ask the gods for something, or thank them.” Eros pushes upright again and smiles sheepishly. “I mean, that’s what I was going to try, at least.”
Truthfully, he’s not used to being asked questions like this, as if he understands something better. In fact, in childhood most of the other foals in his herd had thought him rather daft. The only thing he had ever really been confident in his knowledge of was plants, and that certainly hadn’t helped his standing in social situations. This expectation of comprehension was stressful! And so, he’s relieved, almost, when she points out their oversight. “I—I didn’t even think of that, how silly of me,” he says, dropping his head.
“Oh, maybe!” Just like that, his head snaps back up at her suggestion and he follows her toward the altars, contemplating which one he will pray to. On Oriens’ he finds a few bound books coupled with dried flowers, on Solis’ cloths and oils and two very ornate weapons. His eyes are drawn to Vespera’s, spotting a bouquet of tulips alongside a spread of jewelry and perfumes. He smiles to himself; he likes those things, too.
He stops, and turns back to face the golden woman. “I…I think we ask them for help with the things that are bigger than us, the things we cannot control and worship them as thanks for answering our prayers? Or maybe in hopes that they will?” He’s not entirely sure himself, but that’s how he’s come to think of it.
‘What if they are all just made of stories?’
His brows raise and eyes widen at the suggestion, but then his face softens. After all, he often finds himself wondering the same thing. “We might never know for sure; they very well might be, but I have to hope they’re out there somewhere listening to and watching out for us. Without that hope, I don’t have much anymore.” @Florentine
was studying my curling strategy while writing this (i.e. watching more olympics), so pls forgive any typos
i'll make it up to you w gold in 2022 c'x
<3
02-18-2018, 06:04 PM
Played by
Obsidian [PM] Posts: 380 — Threads: 45 Signos: 25
Dutiful Florentine watches as the boy, white as moonlight, lowers gracefully to his knees. Her eyes trail over the reverent dip of his neck, the elegant curve of his neck.
“So, kneeling…” Flora wonders with a soft voice that skips into the secret corners of the temple and whisper their way back out. “…and prayer.” She finishes softly, but wonder is deep in her heart. Thoughts are thick and heavy and so full of questions in her mind. “What is a prayer though?” The words are full of wonder and they drift trickling over shrines and ringing against spilt chalices of wine and water.
His gaze also trails off to inspect the different shrines, to see what the devoted leave for their gods. She watches his face, the understanding, the joy that ekes in and lights it up like the dawn sun cresting the horizon. Her ears twist forward, a pleased smile curling along her lips. Oh, maybe she could do this, after all.
“So, for Vespera, maybe I should bring some healing ointments and wild flowers from the garden.” As soon as she speaks, it begins to make sense. Oh her Court, alive with wildflowers and grasses thick with herbs and spices. Of course Vespera would want for those things, to see how well Terrastella thrived. But… was she truly there to see these gifts?
Florentine’s nose wrinkles. It was a habit of a youth, whose vestiges still cling to the young queen. He talks of hope, of putting it in gods for fear he would have none. The flower girl’s breath shutters in her lungs and she sighs softly. Her voice lowers amethyst eyes searching as they trickle thoughtfully over his face. “What made you lose your hope?” The temple whispers the words with her, carrying into a song that resonates. Flora ignores the echo, she ignores the glint of the ring through his nose, but keeps her eyes riveted on his face, on the ghosts she fears she sees in his gold, gold eyes.
@Eros - bahaha utterly forgiven but only if you dedicate your gold medal to me, obv ;) Also, please forgive mine. I always miss them! <3 <3
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
02-22-2018, 04:25 PM - This post was last modified: 02-22-2018, 04:26 PM by Florentine
'What is a prayer, though?' A prayer is…”I—I don’t know.” A frown settles over his features; he knew he wouldn’t be smart enough for this. He never had been, had he. He is not intelligent enough to be a sage, cannot hope to remember enough to be a caretaker, and is much too delicate to be a warrior.
But he’s determined, at the least, and kind. He does not want to disappoint her again—especially not when she sounds so curious! So he does his best to answer, and hopes it is sufficient, if not good. “Their prayers were usually spoken? A um… creed? They read them from books.”But I don’t have one, and I don’t know where to find one, either, he thinks, but will not say for fear of letting her down.
Turning away from the altars, she finds a look of understanding (despite him, not because of), a smile spreading across her honey face as she reaches her conclusion aloud. Reassured, he returns a smaller one. “I think she’d like that.” He knows he would, after all, and maybe if they like similar things she would like it, too?
Wind whistles outside the temple, blowing up snow from the peak of the mountain. A long, cold, lonely journey back down awaits him. “I got separated from my mate.” His eyes look up from the floor to meet hers, the vulnerability upon her face mirrored on his. “And sometimes I think—if they really are out there, why do they let bad things happen? But if they are real, maybe they can help me, too. That’s what I came to ask of them.” @Florentine
duh, ofc i will c;
<3
03-21-2018, 04:20 PM
Played by
Obsidian [PM] Posts: 380 — Threads: 45 Signos: 25
She turns from the altar only to see ghosts. Ghosts of a dusk girl and night boy, woven in passion and wrapped in shadow and petals. Her eyes flee from them. The past rises to haunt her and her eyes sway back to the altar – was this the gods? Did she expect to see Vespera stood upon her altar with wicked eyes and a leonine smile?
Florentine takes a breath and sighs. She thinks of ancient books written in blood, then ink of many hues. Her library is full of them, worn with love and years, their pages dark, their covers breaking. They feel a little like her, in this moment. The fae girl is a keeper of tales, her colours were once so vivid and bright, but now she is worn down with love. The hard covers of her are broken and splitting.
They are a mirror, Eros and Florentine. Their sorrow, their broken hearts are there upon the floor for each other to see. The flower girl does not draw her eyes from his, she lets herself look, lets his eyes paint everything she sees in gold. She takes a breath, for he is trapping it with his sorrow. It is buried somewhere deep within her lungs and she fights to pull it up and let it go.
“I will help you find your mate.” She breathes with that breath now loosed. But her eyes close, they shroud her from his sorrow for it is too much. “I lost my mate too. But not like you, he fell in love with another.” And that is all she will say, for already she is a broken tale, stuck upon repeat. To open the book of her is to find only two pages with words and they are of sorrow and loss. She is a half-told fable of an unrequited love.
This girl thinks she might never be whole again, and that is enough to send her to her knees at the foot of Vespera’s altar.
“Because if gods came to sort out all our troubles then we would never be inspired to do right by each other. We would never be inspired to help or try and certainly not to love.” How long had she been looking into his gold? How long had she been stood before Eros like a statue – still like a tree, shedding her petals like leaves.
The snow blows in through the open window, pushing her petals into swirling patterns across the flagstone floor.
She takes a breath, her eyes drifting to the altars around them. "I shall go now, but you have given me much to think on Eros, thank you... When you are ready, come and find me if you wish and I will help you find your mate, you can count on that." Florentine's smile is bright before she turns, leaving the ivory boy alone with his prayers and his god.
@Eros Flora and I have all the love for your boy.
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
04-04-2018, 09:06 AM - This post was last modified: 05-30-2018, 02:51 PM by Florentine
Innocent has never been quite the word to describe Eros. Recklessly optimistic, sure, but certainly not innocent or naive. He discovered fairly early on that life is riddled with trials and tribulations. But he also learned not to dwell on the negative. Positive thinking is what he’s always counted on to help him anticipate the future and not regret the past, after all.
Recently; however, he hasn’t felt very optimistic, either. It’s as if his hope was swept away with the winter winds. He has been trying, of course, to remain positive, but it’s difficult when he keeps coming up empty.
Upon hearing about the temple at the peak, he’d finally felt hopeful—happy to have a destination in mind and a goal to work toward. He isn’t naive enough to believe a simple prayer will solve all his problems, but even just some peace of mind will make the trip worthwhile; he hadn’t expected to have company.
And although he might not have expected it, it surely hadn’t done him any harm. Perhaps she had even helped him, in a way, unknowingly prompted him to reevaluate his beliefs about faith, thoughts he hadn’t questioned in years. “Thank you. Hopefully the next time we meet I’ll be able to introduce him,” he replies, a small smile on his lips as she turns to go. The wind whips its goodbyes, a final whistle on her heels, and Eros is met with silence.
His golden eyes glimmer with hope and wonder as he returns to the altars. Steady breaths echo through the quiet temple. Maybe prayer can be hopeful, right? He inhales and kneels before Vespera’s, sending a cloud of snowflakes dancing on the floor around him.
“Vespera, I came today to ask for your help. I—I was separated from my mate, and well, I really miss him? His name is Aion; he’s my best friend. I never thought I’d ever love anyone so much, but I guess sometimes life has a funny way of surprising you? Anyway, I was hoping you could watch over him for me. You know, keep him safe? And out of trouble, if you can,” he adds with a giggle.
“Please help him know how special he is to me, and how loved. I hope that you’ll help us find each other.”
And with that, he presses a gentle kiss to his left hind leg and sets off back down the mountain. @Florentine <3
so sorry it took me forever to close!
