[P] I have lost my pearls

[Florentine]

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

How long was it since she had been here in the throes of summer? The sun was hot, molten gold pouring along the curve of her spine. It was warm butter melting down her limbs and she was sticky hot. But she kept walking, her skin sighing with every breeze that pressed, ice-cool against her skin.
 
The air is a buzz, a hum of wings and whispering grasses. Lazy motes, laden with pollen and caught by the wind, drift by. They swirl in the wake of a thousand, tiny gossamer wings and swirl languidly to earth, to sleep – to rest. It is a day full of hazy sunshine, surrounded by bees and insects. They skitter away from the fae-queen, dancing over petals and flowers and into dark of hidden, low grasses.
 
But there is a greater beast hiding amidst this wild, meadow sea. He is a rock upon which the grasses break and bend. His pale sides rise and fall like bellows, his breath stirring petals and leaves. Florentine watches him as she walks closer, for he is young, and alone. Beneath the gold of her fringe, she considers this boy, lost in his fitful sleep. Standing sentinel above him, the flower-girl watches the way his rose-lips twitch, the way his lashes flutter with dreams she cannot catch.
 
Flora watches him until a solitary petal falls. Its descent is as slow as the motes of the air. It falls for an eternity and lands with a sigh upon his nose. Ah, the boy twitches and those pink lashes flutter. Above him the queen remains, her feet beside his, her shadow a shawl across his prone form.
 
Cerulean eyes open, wide as the sea and deep as the ocean. Florentine’s lips, gilded and bright, tip into a smile as another petal falls. “Good morning.” She hums, but there is no morning sun in the sky. It is aged and high and hot; reminding them both as it drums upon their backs. “I do miss just being able to sleep amongst the flowers too. “
 
That delicate head tilts and her eyes roam to a distant willow, elegant and wisened with age. “I once slept a whole day away just under there.” A wing unfurls its feathered tip pointing to the tree and its veil of vines and leaves. “ I missed a court meeting and everything...” The Dusk queen’s words flow like a river, winding, weaving but never slowing, never stopping. “It is cool in the shade there.” Flora’s amethyst eyes stray back to the boy and his bed of grass. Her gaze falls upon the pink of his skin and her petal lying there. “You may wish for shade, sunburns can be nasty. I once burned my nose – it stung for days.”
 
And those lips do not smooth away their mischievous smile.

@Florestan

florentine
rocking your pretty flower world