FLORENTINE
always one decision away from a totally different life
She stands with her head upon his spine. Beneath her jaw she thinks she feels the thrum of his blood and wonders how much of it is theirs to share. How long could she stand here beside her brother before she ever felt restless? Does he know the ties she has bound between them? Each one she has spun so tight and knotted even tighter still. She hides every blade from herself and from him. Ah Asterion, your sister might never let you go now – too intense is her heart.
He steps away from her and she affords him this. Her chin lifts as her brother moves and the world is cold beneath her chin, the stars so suddenly far away. Higher than the festival she looks, up to where the moon hangs pregnant and silver. She bathes the world in silver, diluting Florentine’s skin to milk.
Her brother’s thoughts are full of gods – gods he knows and maybe even gods he might once have loved. In the silence between them Florentine watches him. Each expression that paints itself across his face, his sister studies as though it were exquisite art – for what is art if not life?
Asterion answers her then. He did not love the gods and she sighs a breath she had not known she held. It is a small breath, something sad and something relieved. Florentine cannot decide what she makes of gods or monsters. For each are glorious and each are terrible. Each are sinful and each are good. None are transcendent and none are worthy of her worship. So she thinks, so her soul whispers against her heart.
‘Were the differences clear?” She asks with a tilt of her head. “Should we take them now and place them somewhere else – would they be so powerful, so godly then?” Like a child she asks the questions, like a child she expects answers but has none of her own. Like the obstinate she will accept no answer easily. Ah her belief is a wretched and confusing thing.
“I think I would like to believe in a god, or maybe even more. I like the idea, but I have seen too much, I do not know what I would call a god I could bring myself to worship.”
She might has dwelled there. Florentine might have allowed herself to sink into what it means to be a god and their devout worshippers. But her brother does not allow it. With a tug upon her mane he ends their conversation and her lips curl into a mischievous smile, grateful and bright. “Then what shall we do now, brother?” Her eyes drift out into the sea of festivities. “Make merry with liquor or paint our skin until we do not recognize even ourselves?”
@Asterion | | eeeee
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
