f l o r e n t i n e
If there is one thing Florentine has learnt, it is that Time enjoys repetition. It is not boring enough to always replay detail for detail. The smaller smaller details will always change. It is these smaller details that keep Flora on her toes and keep her intrigued.
It came as no surprise, therefore, when today Florentine began to witness the unfolding of a familiar repetition. It was a playful pleat in time, one she had seen time and time again. Obedient to this deja vu, and always a willing participant in the games that Space and Time like to play, Florentine steps into the shade of a tree.
She had been in this position at least twice before. Hiding in the dark of a tree, watching a boy playing in the sea – it wasn’t nearly as weird as it sounded… She hoped.
Her amethyst eyes peer out, concealed in the shadow of the tree, the welcoming coot bathing her skin in whisper cold. Her eyes trail the unicorn boy in the water and Flora wonders just how boys manage to get their voices quite so high to squeal like little girls when they are so playful. Normally they just act like gruff, roughty-toughty men. Florentine decided long ago that she preferred the ones who were always set for an adventure.
Time drifted by as the sun slipped lower and lower and the skies bled from pink to red, to purple, and darker still. Silver began to glitter upon the sand and waves. Like a shadow the unicorn finally draws himself from the sea to rest upon a bank.
Flora’s restless limbs shift and finally she abandons her spy post and steps out upon the beach. The sea breeze snags her mane, delighted to tug at the long threads of honey and gold. It worries the lilac flowers and impishly pulls petals from their bearers. In silence the petals tumble and roll before her down the beach and with a huff she dutifully follows their lead.
Hello!
The cry pierces the growing night and Flora blinksm startled. “With a voice like that you will wake up the whole neighbourhood y’know.”
Despite her warning, the girl of flowers continues to reach his side. Her head tilting to better peer at him from beneath the tangle of forelock and flowers. “Do you know, I am not quite sure where we are.” The girl muses softly, her eyes drinking in the painted cliffs, the vibrant sea and the low hanging moon. She takes a step closer to the unicorn boy as she peers out at the beach in a covert manner reserved only for those with the most secret things to tell. It may therefore come as some measure of disappointment to Charlemagne when Flora simply says, “I have heard others referring to this place as Novus. But this particular beach? I am afraid I have no idea.”
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
