FLORENTINE
always one decision away from a totally different life
That anger, it is needle pricks along her golden skin. It is hot acid in her stomach. Florentine has learned to wear her anger well, but it will never fit her comfortably. She is glorious in the throes of this ill-fitting feeling, but it rubs her, it chafes her.
In amethyst the flower girl drinks in the way he watches her, as calm as ever – she never expected anything else from this fellow boy of hidden worlds and eternal mysteries.
Was there anything about her that surprised Lysander now? She surprised herself often, so very often.
So caught up in his unwavering gaze, his utter knowing, the flower girl does not notice the way the crowds biblically part for her.
Lysander turns to her, full of calm readiness and she wonders how long he might have known she was there. Did he know she would come before the thought had even formed in the secrets of her mind? Flora thought she was unpredictable. He makes her think again.
It is warm awareness that sweeps over her as sunlight warms the earth. No one has ever looked unsurprised by her and she blinks away her wonder. She begins to open herself to the thought that someone might know her better than she knows herself.
But his deference throws her ears to her skull and her chin toward the sky. It is a sharp rejection. Any other day she might have met him with a smile, with a smile that turned shy but pleased. This afternoon she does not. She meets his smile with lips pulled down, down.
For many things, he agrees when she tells him that he owes her. Her chin lowers, so she no longer gazes at him from on high, but lowly, from beneath her fringe, as she always has.
Her flower boy had always said he was not made for love and now she thinks that she begins to see. She dares to believe he may be right. Florentine has so many questions now, of boys and their hearts’ desires. It is not his words that make her question, but his voice. His careless tone cuts the anthousai deep, deeper than it should.
It was not what she wanted to hear.
So many things he could have said, but he said that. Her eyes close and she holds fast. In the dark of her she thinks of the Rift, of how she looked up to him as a child. Oh she was naive then, when she imagined an adult life as nothing but simple. She didn’t understand him then either, but she is learning to now.
When she opens her eyes and looks to Lysander she knows that nothing was ever simple. Florentine wonders what friends she has now (ones close enough to hold her together when she cannot) they are so few and far between. This girl has loved and lost.
She holds herself together, then takes a step back from him and lifts her chin.
“And is your curiosity sated?” The world seems to vibrate, but it is only her trembling. Accusations build upon her tongue, impulse building in her muscles. He owes her so many things, but offers her none of them. His answer would be a dangerous one, but she thinks that she is ready to burn.
“Were you ever going to tell me about the Riftlands?” Oh small, sad voice, “my parents are there, Lysander.” And her heart shatters at the last.
@Lysander | | notes: text
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
