[P] A million dreams

[Florentine]

florentine

This has been the longest Florentine has ever stayed within her Court. Normally a restlessness within her made her limbs itch to run and her soul burst from her chest with a desire to go. it would be the wind that would catch willingly beneath her wings and bear the girl, up, up, up.
 
But now, in the last weeks, Florentine has been grounded by weights that bore her so low. They kept her limbs heavy, her soul heavier still and her mind, well, it never left its memories of the Night Festival and the jealousies of a Night King that left Lysander beaten and bleeding and so, so sick.
 
She moves along the vaulted hallways of the cloister. Intricate stonework glowed marigold with the light of the morning sun. Florentine steps between the dozen rays of sunlight until she reaches Israfel’s door. Was it too early? So easy it was to lose track of time now. The flower girl feels the warmth of her dagger, it has roused and now calls to cut her way out of worlds – out of Novus - but how can she when her limbs are so heavy? Her soul is sinking like a rock into the deep sea.
 
“Israfel.” Flora says softly an amethyst petal blowing beneath the door, pushed by an invisible wind. “It is Florentine. I would like to speak with you.”
 
And then the girl waits, her eyes drifting to the wild-flower garden, framed by the cloisters. Birds, keen and vibrant, flutter between flowers, chasing bugs and flying insects. It is a miniature world and for a moment she longs to just be small again, so unaffected by this bigger world of hers.

@Israfel <3 <3 short to get us going :) 

[Israfel]

Israfel

The Sun Daughter’s chambers were her shelter. It was there that she paid homage to a land long-gone, a place that she would never again feel beneath her hooves or see with her own eyes. It was a place she would only visit in her dreams. Within her personal chambers, barred from everyone within the Court, hung tapestries and silken drapes of fine golds and crimsons, intersected with drapes the color of rich ivory and smooth slate. The colors of her heritage. The colors of Gods and Saints. Of one God and one Saint. They intersected, weaving across the ceilings, draping down the walls, blocking the windows. Cushions and quilts of like colors lay strewn about the room. A small desk, in disarray with books halfway read, sat in the corner. Upon one wall, a painting in black ink, crafted from the Sun Daughter’s own memory. A map. A map of Helovia. This was her haven. Her sanctuary. Here, the Sun God of Helovia and Smoke the Wild Rose lived on forever, just as they did within her very being.

Not just anyone was permitted within her sanctuary. There had only been one, and now he was gone. Gone. Just like everyone else she had loved and cared about.

Bitterness had never tasted so cruel.

Vermilion eyes cast towards the door, a frown tugging at rose-kissed lips upon spotting the petal that fluttered in beneath the door. Israfel hadn’t wanted to be interrupted, but it was Florentine. The Queen of Terrastella. Her words, no matter how much Israfel may question them at times, were law… And she was bound by oath to follow. But did she dare let Florentine into her shelter? Her sanctuary? Dare she display such intimate privacy before the Queen?

Fuck it.

“Come in,” the shield-maiden beckoned softly, eyes blazing like burning coals as she watched the door from her spot by the open window, crimson silk drapes pulled away so that she could watch the colors of dawn arise from the comfort of her own quarters. Soon she would need to be out on patrol. For now, however, she intended to grant her Queen an audience.

It was only when the door had opened and Florentine would dare her first step within the Sun Daughter’s sanctuary that Israfel would speak. Her head tilted slightly, jaw raised, vermilion eyes locked on the golden lady’s stature. Israfel smiled.  “Good morning, Florentine. It’s rather early, isn’t it?” Almost too early for a visit, but it wasn’t like the gilded maiden had been sleeping anyway. This was hardly an unwarranted interruption. “Is everything well?” She would wait to bring up her own misgivings, her own concerns. She would wait to ask her ’why?’

“Come in, please. Make yourself comfortable. You look tired.”

x - x

@Florentine <3

[Florentine]

florentine
She heard the voice, muffled beyond wood. Her eyes blink slowly drawing back from where her was gaze focused upon the dawn.  The door swung inward and for a moment the flower girl hesitated upon the threshold. It was not her to be so hesitant, to be so careful. But the festival had changed so much. She was changed.
 
Her heart was a drum hard against her breastbone and, as she stood in the doorway, her petals falling like tears from her hair, she wonders if Israfel can hear its tremulous beating.
 
Every word that passes the warrior girl’s lips is a welcome. There is no part of Israfel that is not so, but as Florentine slowly steps into the lady’s chambers, she feels the tension drawn tight across her skin. She aches, she aches so terribly much.
 
Is everything well? Flora’s eyes close for protection against such a simple question. Oh her wings long to stretch and throw her from the window, spreading wide to catch the wind. She would fly into the dawn and never be found again. But she couldn’t, not when a boy bled because of the fallout of her love and a jealous Night King.  In her mind, in the darkness there she still sees his blood upon her skin and it is as if it were her own the day she died a child’s death. Her soul is trembling, trembling and the girl’s breath is clawing up her throat.
 
She could lie. She could claim all was well. Florentine was not a girl accustomed to lying, but, even long gone, the Night King’s magic is still a phantom festering in her heart. It still has a spectral weight upon her tongue. The truth, the truth, the truth it demands and her veins grow hot with anger and sorrow. Where was the boy she had grown to love? She did not know. He was through her fingers the moment he turned to love another and lost the moment he hypnotized her. She told him a truth then, that not even she understood. Oh terrible weaving fates.
 
You look tired. The world disappears behind Flora’s closed eyes. Ah such blissful black! But the girl does not linger there, she forces her eyes to open and drink in the reality that is her Court and those she sought to protect. “Thank you, Israfel.” The Dusk girl breathes, petal soft and utterly ragged. “I have come to ask if you will be my Warden?” And then there is silence.
 
It is a big silence that sits even heavier upon Florentine’s spine. No, no, she was not meant to be a queen and even now the girl desires to flee. She is changed, this girl. She was born to be with others, to seek adventure but now, now she seeks to run, to hide to find solitude. Oh just for a moment, to throw that imaginary crown from her head and find Rannveig again - to feel her comfort once more.
 
Florentine waits, her eyes upon the dawn, until they sweep back in to glance at Israfel. Then she holds her compatriot’s gaze and sighs softly to her fitful soul. Don’t run, don’t run.

@Israfel - eep wasn't quite expecting Flora to be so broken. I think Reich's hypnosis upset her more than I thought it would >.<
 

[Israfel]

Israfel

Florentine was far too quiet, standing in the doorway like a frightened fawn. Gone was the self-assurance, the charisma, the dominating presence by a girl made queen. There was no captivating smile upon her lips, no adventurous elegance, nor did her eyes twinkle and glint with their known glaze of mischievousness. Instead a changeling was left in its wake, and Israfel did not know what to make of it. Pity? Yes, she felt pity. The mantle of leadership was a heavy weight. Heartache? That, too, aching for her losses. Confusion? Most definitely, but not for the reason that many might think.

She, too, was aching from loss. Terribly. Cancerous. It made her limbs feel like lead, her wings unable to rise, to fly. Bitterness was an unfathomable weight within her breast, but who, truly, was at fault? Whatever had happened, the truth, was not yet something that the Sun Daughter was privy to. She did not know all of the facts. Somehow that knowledge was above her station; words to be whispered behind closed doors, upon the lips of sovereigns and regimes. It angered her. Did she not deserve to know the truth? Why her most steadfast companion within these walls had been cast from his position and gone from their province?

That pain, however, that bitterness, could be placed aside. Despite her ignorance to many things, and the time she had spent dead, she understood that one could not always think of themselves when faced with such arduous tasks. Personal emotion meant nothing when in charge with very lives, and Israfel hoped that Florentine understood that.

The said woman’s words finally came, and Israfel remained alert. Pale ears were forward, fiery vermilion eyes focused only on the Sovereign of Terrastella, pale lips drawn downwards in a thoughtful frown. Then, the truth of Florentine’s visit. ’I have come to ask if you will be my Warden?’ For a moment, the shield-maiden could only stare, blissfully numb, before the weight of her emotions, warring and damned, slammed into her.

Pride. Dread. Fear. Uncertainty. Confusion. Desperation.

They battled for dominance, and the Daughter of the Sun sucked in a sharp, harsh breath, feeling sick. It was only then that she looked away, averting her gaze, wandering irises focusing upon the map of her homeland hung upon the wall. Was this not what she wanted? For her skills and dedication to be noticed…? To be recognized? But it felt wrong. It felt forced.

Why rally our forces now?

“… I’ll be your Warden,” Israfel agreed, her voice cautious, careful, as though speaking to a frightened animal instead of a Queen, “If you tell me the truth. Where has Isorath gone? I’m loyal to you, Florentine. You must know that. But I’m also loyal to him. We served together under your command. He is my friend, just as you are, and all I want to know is the truth. To serve you properly, I need to know.”

The truth. That was what it always came down to, right? Israfel could not, would not, serve a Court of lies. Surely the truth wasn’t too much to ask for?

x - x

@Florentine <3

[Florentine]

florentine

Oh the silence was long and terrible. Florentine counted each second in the beats of her heart and there were too, too many.
 
For all that there were no words, that silence was so heavily pregnant. It was weighted with thoughts and emotions – so many, too many. Flora pushed away her own thoughts and when she couldn’t, she lifted her chin so they would not drown her.
 
But still the silence goes on.
 
An eternity feels like it stretches before them. Florentine longs to move, to shift her body (turn and run!) but she doesn’t. Her mind forms invisible roots and they bind those slender limbs to the stone beneath her feet.
 
It is wrong to think Florentine appoints Israfel as her Warden in a rush, in a moment of desperation. The spot had been empty for an eternity. Rannveig’s abdication had left their kingdom depleted of so many positions. It was time they were filled and with a heart broken, it was all she could do but to focus upon her kingdom and make it flourish.
 
The silence ends and a sigh so large, so freeing, races past her gold lips. The warmth of relief seeps through her veins. It is a soothing balm against the wounds on her heart, but those wounds still know pain and there is one word she says that reminds them what it is to hurt. If you tell me the truth. Flora flinches as if struck and her heart most certainly is. There was no way to hide such weakness, no way to rid herself of these scars.
 
Did that flinch make her seem guilty? Maybe so, but Flora still does not know what lies she has ever told to make people desire the truth from her like they do now. She was the girl that was always too open, she always spoke too freely why now, did they deem her deceptive? When would she be able to keep some truths to herself, kept safe in the quiet of her soul?
 
That word comes again, heavier with meaning designed to have more impact. And it does, it strikes Florentine like a whip and it stings. With a breath she breaks those vines and steps back, away from the warrior girl.
 
“I have never lied to you, Israfel. I have never lied to any from Terrastella. I chose to keep some events to myself as their wounds are still fresh. Am I not entitled to that?” She asks softly, though that voice is growing firmer as her sadness turns to anger.
 
“You want to know what has happened and I will tell you. I found Isorath and Reichenbach together at the festival. They had been meeting together for some time and seemed closer than friends. I had brought Lysander to meet Reichenbach but when I asked about Reich’s relationship with Isorath, he grew jealous of my relationship with Lysander.” Florentine turns away from her Warden, her eyes drinking in the dawn through the window.
 
“Reichenbach believed I was lying to him and so hypnotized me with his magic. Later that night he and his Crows beat Lysander to near death.” Then, in a whisper, “We are still not sure whether he will survive…
 
“It turns out Isorath and Reichenbach had fallen in love. Isorath’s intimacy with my then boyfriend, under the many watchful eyes of other courts, opened Terrastella up to weakness. He also did not show much concern towards his compatriot’s attack and so I removed him as my Regent. He chose to leave Terrastella, Israfel. I did not command he do so.”
 
Florentine falls silent and her gaze slowly draws back from the window. It settles upon Israfel, “You may disagree with what I did, but I did what I felt was best for Terrastella. I always will. My people are important to me and I will do whatever I have to, to protect them.”
 
A smile, small begins to curl the corner of her gilded mouth. “I thank you for your loyalty.”

@Israfel - <3
 

[Israfel]

Israfel

A pale ear flicked in Florentine’s direction, vermilion eyes alight and focused on the gilded sovereign standing before her. Israfel did not rush it. She did not push or demand, allowing Forentine to take her time, to muster her thoughts and formulate them into words. Emotions were a fickle thing. She understood. One could not simply tame the heart, mind, and tongue into obedience, could not force them to work in tandem when so often they fought against each other. The body was far too rebellious, too mortal, and too fallible.

At last, she spoke, but it was only one sentence. “You are entitled to the safekeeping of your heart, just as I am entitled to mine.” Simple, blunt, and to the point. Israfel was no politician. She never had been. Many a things she had once embodied, but never a politician. Now, she was a warrior. No sharp tongue could serve her as well as the blade of her horn, or the blunt force of her cloven hooves. After that piece, she grew quiet once more, and listened as Florentine unraveled the mysterious tale as to what had happened beneath their Court’s very noses.

Troubled contrast twisted within her breast. Love affairs were pointless and scandalous, and even more so when they involve the two leaders of two separate Courts. The risk of a nasty fallout was too great. The very truth was presented before them now, with the failed romance between Florentine and Reichenbach. If Isorath had gone to Denocte to serve the Night King instead, if he had chosen them instead of Terrastella, Israfel could not help but wonder if there were more than what she was hearing. Did she believe Florentine? Yes, without a doubt… But every situation had a side, and while not a politician, Israfel did believe in fairness. Perhaps she should have sought out the wise old Sages in Delumine after all…

Silence held her tongue. Israfel did not speak. Vermilion eyes stared with a burning weight, yet her gaze was not calculating nor cruel. It simply was. Rose-petal lips pulled downwards in a thoughtful frown, mulling it all over. An affair had brewed between Isorath and Reichenbach, acted upon or not, and in turn Lysander, one of their own, had nearly been killed. Somewhere within all of that, the Night King had used a manipulative magic upon her Queen. Wasn’t that enough means for challenge? For war? Betraying the calm trust that the two nations had built?

Israfel was not so sure. How funny, considering that she was now Terrastella’s appointed Warden. How very ironic…

Challenging Denocte would now be a foolish mistake, and the Sun Daughter prayed to the Novus Gods that she did not believe in that Florentine would not be so swayed into pursuing such an action. Their numbers were greater, and now? Now, they had Aether within their midst. The Dragons of Helovia had been fierce little creatures, but they had been so very small. A creature of Aether’s size? Well… Israfel had died once already. She didn’t fancy doing so again.

“Thank you, Florentine. For your honesty. If it’s any consolation, I never thought you of lying. As I said, you’re allowed your privacy… But something of this regard should be known. If it affects our Queen, it affects us all.” Florentine was the head of Terrastella. Her actions would look upon their Court as a whole. Honesty and integrity had to be met in order for them to survive. “… But also know, that should the dogs of war call our name and our adversary is Denocte, not even I am foolish enough to challenge Isorath and Aether. More than I don’t desire to scrap with a dragon of that size, is it that they are my friends. I do not wish to fight them any more than I wish to disregard your orders.”

Was war brimming on the horizon? Israfel had no way of knowing. Not yet.

The Sun Daughter smiled, fierce orange eyes glittering in the sunlight that filtered through the window. She did not know if her words would matter much to Florentine. Israfel was fairly certain that she held Isorath in a far different light now than Florentine did. That was fine. They were all allowed their opinions.

“… Please try and relax, Florentine. It means little coming from me, I know, but I do worry about your health and welfare.”

x - x

@Florentine <3

[Florentine]

florentine
Florentine smiles, but there is no joy upon her lips. There is no light to brighten her eyes and glitter in the depths of her amethyst gaze. The smile the fae-queen wears is small and sad. It is a bitter taste to any who dare taste it and it poisons Flora. 
 
“Then why does it feel like I am not entitled the to the safekeeping of my own heart?” She sighs the question, weary, despite her young years. Never had she felt more old than now. Never brought so low as to muddy her knees in the dirt of her troubles.
 
Florentine watches the older mare. She studies that vermillion gaze with eyes so wide. A hope blossoms in her breast, it twines itself through her stomach like roots and begins to bud flowers of hope. 
 
The fae-girl is not disappointed. When Israfel’s counsel comes, spoken in words blunt and open, they are measured and practical. There is something of Florentine’s mother in this woman – whether it be the fire, whether it be the warrior’s mind, one that spoke truth and did not fear the repercussions. “You are right.” Florentine breathes. “I plan to call our court together and I will tell others of what has transpired but, for now, I am unsure myself just what to do beyond today.” Ah, that confession is whispered in a small, small voice. It is a voice that flutters butterfly-fragile in the space between the queen and her spirited Warden. It presses those delicate wings against Israfel before it is gone, lost to the past and the silence of the fire-warrior’s room.
 
Israfel has only wise words for them and Florentine heeds them all. “But,” She considers lightly, “Can I let merely Reichenbach get away with his transgressions? To let him launch an unprovoked attack upon an innocent citizen of Dusk and let him use his magic on me and do nothing is foolishness, surely? He has wronged us and to do nothing is to invite him to think he can again.” 
 
And Florentine is moving, she is pacing and fretful. Anger, hurt and betrayal sear themselves through her body, culling nerves and setting her golden skin ablaze. “I do not necessarily talk of war, I have seen the ruins of that with my own eyes. But to do nothing? I cannot do that, I will not. I love Terrastella and its citizens too much to allow a foreign king to think he can abuse us in such a manner. This is not about love, it is about Terrastella.”
 
When those eyes lift, they are imploring and searching. Oh the flower girl needs counsel, she needs guidance from a woman that has lived more years than her. 
 
Florentine lets her eyes roam over fire-licked eyes and skin that glows as white-hot as the sun in Solterra’s sky. What would do, Israfel, were you in my position? And there is no judgment in such a thought, the flower-girl not filled with challenge or anger. No, they are curious and defeated, weary and sorrowful. She does not expect an answer and so turns to the door.
 
"I shall hold a meeting soon." She says softly and then, before shutting the door she murmurs softly, "Have a good day, Israfel." And with that the flower-girl is gone.

@Israfel 

[Israfel]

Israfel

In the end there wasn’t really much else to say. What could she say? Nothing that already hadn’t been brought to light, of course, but still Israfel felt that it wasn’t enough. She found that no amount of words, no matter how pretty or brash, could be enough. The golden girl paces, distraught and angry, and righteously so, but the Daughter of the Sun held her tongue and simply listened. It was a lesson she was trying to learn, to listen more than she spoke, for one could learn a plethora of things by simply listening to the world around them.

Florentine knew her thoughts and opinions on the manner, and truly? Well, Israfel didn’t know what else she could say or do to support the golden girl, with her lavender floral mantle oh so heavy. The Sun Daughter knew that all she could do was support her with body and mind, no matter their differing beliefs or feelings on some matter, and care her she would, in whatever way was needed.

“Please. Take care of yourself, Florentine.” And that was that.

It was a brief parting, and as Florentine’s golden form turned and departed from her private chambers, the petals of those lilac flowers drifting to fall upon her floor, Israfel found her gaze enraptured and entranced. She remained in her position, standing stock-still, watching that little petal with a troubled gaze and a furrowed brow. That disturbed frown pulled once more upon rose-kissed lips, but still her eyes remained rooted upon the innocent little petal sitting unceremoniously upon the cobblestone floor.

Silence stretched eternal within her own chambers of crimson silks, until at last, she had to break it. “… Is this how it must be, father?” The question was spoken upon a breath, upon the barest of a whisper, and a feeling so forlorn, so troubled and confused began to rise amidst her breast. The anger from before was gone; now, only a dark somberness overwhelmed her, and the Sun Daughter heaved a breath and finally ripped her gaze away from that innocent petal. Forlorn vermilion eyes turned to focus on the window, watching the skies overhead as though they held the answers.

They would provide her with nothing, of course, but she would hope.

x - x

Literally forever late but here’s my closing post. xD