[P] Dew in the Valley

[Florentine]

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

That voice rings in her mind. It was eternal, speaking out from all ages. Time had no limits for a voice like that and it struck something deep within the time-traveller girl.
 
Florentine could move between worlds. She had seen gods rise and die. She had seen gods praised on high for less power than some of Novus’ inhabitant’s possessed… So it is, with intrigue, with the whispers of Time licking at her heels, that Florentine steps up to the gates beside her brethren.
 
From the corner of her eye, she catches the glimpse of silver, the flash of a horn pointed up toward the sky. And in the other eye she sees a spark of crimson.  She is proud, of how many of her court have come to stand sentinel beyond the doors of the god’s chosen temple.
 
The crown of her head dips, to her brother and then her friend. The flower girl drinks them in, from the stars that run in their veins to the moon that ascends in their souls. They were the twilight guard, here to bear witness to a transcendent god.
 
Through the creaking doors they step, with eyes that watch. Cyrene is wine beside her, pouring seamlessly across the floor and to her other side, her brother  is the quiet constant of stars.
 
Florentine says nothing to them, she need not. Tempus had spoken for them all. They are gathered here and they are not alone. Across from them Seraphina stands, her regime beside her. Florentine’s lips tip into a smile, small, quiet, near hidden. Then there is gold and a trio she knows, a trio she adores. Amethyst eyes drink in the whole of Somnus, of the seriousness in which they find each other; it is not like any of their meetings before. The young queen’s breath is a soft sigh, her gaze long beneath the thick of her fringe.
 
Lavender petals are brave, even here, and they fall from Florentine and drift curiously, reverently across the floor. The fae-queen watches as they reach for Dusk’s tapestries and then press forward, as if in homage, to the statue that glows.
 
A forelimb twitches and Flora’s skin feels the phantom touch of it. She holds the searing gaze of those glowing eyes, she lets them light a shine a lamp deep into the very heart of her. Then she turns, her skull dropping just a moment, curious and quiet.
 
This was Time reaching out for the girl who will not be contained by it. Her dagger thrums with life, keen and wild, as magic seems to thrum in every corner.
 
The time-traveller girl has come, to see what this god of Time might want with her, with all of his creation.

florentine
rocking your pretty flower world