f l o r e n t i n e
“Look at you, coming in here, disturbing our dust.”
The words chime out beneath the star-flung skies of Terrastella. In the dusk light, shadowy and speckled, Florentine is bathed a deeper gold than she could ever hope to be. The orange of each wing tip catches the dust as it drifts from the ebony girls foot. Small twists of her wing and the dust is spinning, spinning.
The flower girl had been following the ebony stranger for some time. Stalking was an art she had honed as a foal and whilst it was near perfect, it was not, sadly, faultless. Maybe Inkheart had known there was a paler shadow marking her? Or maybe Florentine was just that good. Either way, stalking grew boring, and Florentine had a penchant for chatting.
She watches the dust thoughtfully, indulgently, before she allows Inkheart to steal her gaze. There is adoration in the way the shadows fall like a shawl over the stranger’s body. She melts, inky black into the liquid dark of the Dusk Court’s shadowy corners. The flower girl watches as the shadows grow bolder and the sky redder. The sun is slipping and falling into the sea but neither girl spares it a glance. Not even as darkness, the Night Court’s own indulgent bedfellow, descends to swallow the dying light.
Florentine does not miss the way the stranger’s eyes, wrought in gold and as hot as any sun, gaze inland. “Come to see us at our finest?” Florentine purrs, humour playing in the corner of her upturned lips. In the same way that the Night Court was perfect in darkness, the Day Court resplendent in daylight and the Dawn Court bold with its newborn light. So the Dusk Court was an ode to the bruised and bloody dying of the light.
“Like what you see?” Humour falls away to curiosity, for surely she was not the only one to have an insatiable appreciation for the other courts. Oh Florentine, never able to rest still; a wayward girl in love and geography.
Rich is the amethyst glow of Flora’s eyes as they sink into the gold Inkheart’s own. The Dusk girl’s gaze trickles, slipping along the sleek tattoo that pours and twines itself down the length of the stranger’s hind limb. Florentine’s exploration of the other girl comes to settle upon the orb of light blazing like a sun at her breast.
“No one will miss you coming with that.” She muses softly. She lets a wing extend into the cascading light, feathers splitting it into rays that dapple upon the dusty cliff face. By comparison, Flora’s flowers and their wayward petals are quite plain. But, never ones to be upstaged, the petals tumble and roll to tangle in the black of Inkheart’s mane and tail.
“So what brings you to the Dusk Court?” Flora asks at last, “Is it business, or mere snooping? I am quite partial to a bit of snooping now and again myself.”
@Inkheart
this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
The words chime out beneath the star-flung skies of Terrastella. In the dusk light, shadowy and speckled, Florentine is bathed a deeper gold than she could ever hope to be. The orange of each wing tip catches the dust as it drifts from the ebony girls foot. Small twists of her wing and the dust is spinning, spinning.
The flower girl had been following the ebony stranger for some time. Stalking was an art she had honed as a foal and whilst it was near perfect, it was not, sadly, faultless. Maybe Inkheart had known there was a paler shadow marking her? Or maybe Florentine was just that good. Either way, stalking grew boring, and Florentine had a penchant for chatting.
She watches the dust thoughtfully, indulgently, before she allows Inkheart to steal her gaze. There is adoration in the way the shadows fall like a shawl over the stranger’s body. She melts, inky black into the liquid dark of the Dusk Court’s shadowy corners. The flower girl watches as the shadows grow bolder and the sky redder. The sun is slipping and falling into the sea but neither girl spares it a glance. Not even as darkness, the Night Court’s own indulgent bedfellow, descends to swallow the dying light.
Florentine does not miss the way the stranger’s eyes, wrought in gold and as hot as any sun, gaze inland. “Come to see us at our finest?” Florentine purrs, humour playing in the corner of her upturned lips. In the same way that the Night Court was perfect in darkness, the Day Court resplendent in daylight and the Dawn Court bold with its newborn light. So the Dusk Court was an ode to the bruised and bloody dying of the light.
“Like what you see?” Humour falls away to curiosity, for surely she was not the only one to have an insatiable appreciation for the other courts. Oh Florentine, never able to rest still; a wayward girl in love and geography.
Rich is the amethyst glow of Flora’s eyes as they sink into the gold Inkheart’s own. The Dusk girl’s gaze trickles, slipping along the sleek tattoo that pours and twines itself down the length of the stranger’s hind limb. Florentine’s exploration of the other girl comes to settle upon the orb of light blazing like a sun at her breast.
“No one will miss you coming with that.” She muses softly. She lets a wing extend into the cascading light, feathers splitting it into rays that dapple upon the dusty cliff face. By comparison, Flora’s flowers and their wayward petals are quite plain. But, never ones to be upstaged, the petals tumble and roll to tangle in the black of Inkheart’s mane and tail.
“So what brings you to the Dusk Court?” Flora asks at last, “Is it business, or mere snooping? I am quite partial to a bit of snooping now and again myself.”
@Inkheart
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
