f l o r e n t i n e
She stands in the midst of the water. On all sides the cool waters stretch as flat and sleek as glass. Ripples radiate from her, water whispers that grow larger and larger as they race towards the still banks. With gentle chatter and bubbles the water breathes against the shoreline; stones, sand and grasses all submerged beneath the cool lapping waters.
Flora looks to the surface of the lake, her eyes studiously taking in its every colour and movement. But is it not truly the water she watches, but the sky above. For the sky is painted upon the surface as though it is a window to the top of another world. It is another world that beckons her to fall forwards and tumble, tumble down, down to the rocky mountains below.
The Night Court sky that is a curious blend of night and day, a purple haze that refuses to leave the sunlit sky. Stars blink and never sleep. They glow brighter than any in the Dusk court and leaves the Dusk girl with with a promise of the night to come.
Florentine holds her breath, willing her heart to stop, if only to put pause to the ripples that run with each beat of her chest. The more she holds, the more her body stirs, oh to be so alive that motion can never truly be stopped!
Her lips curl as lavender flower drifts idly by, a flower that seems to float in the perfectly reflected sky. The waters spread her mane and tail, parting each strand as best they can. But even the waters cannot un-work the wild snarls each flower makes as they grow from her honeyed hair.
The waters stir in earnest, new ripples racing towards her from a new direction. This tranquil moment, this blissful silence, is shattered and idly Flora wonders if this is the beginning of a new party at the Night Court. Reichenbach had, after all, cemented her belief that this was a court of revelers.
The waters breaks into a song of steps, each splash heralding an approaching footfall. A solitary ear twists to catch the newcomers approach, but her amethyst eyes are drinking in the circling mountains as though parched of such beauty.
“What name could ever suit a place of such beauty?” The flower girl asks softly. There is no hiding the ardor in her voice, nor the breathlessness that comes of such awe.
Purple petals bob upon the water as they float towards Lothaire. It is not often that Florentine is so serious, so thoughtful. But who could not when faced with a beauty such as this? A world not yet ravaged by eternity.
@Lothaire
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
