i'm a pretty flower girl
check out my pretty flower curls
check out my pretty flower curls
Her eyes close as golden lips brush against her cheek. A warmth spreads through her chest and it tightens a heart she has not felt in too, too long. Newly found again, it does not twinge, nor ache as it had grown accustomed too. No, at last it is painfree, not even the ache of stitches live on like ghosts in the sinew of her shredded heart. Bexley’s love was there before Reichenbach, preceeded only by the love of family and friends.
The scent of sun and sand is close, close. It is one she remembers, she knows the taste of that golden skin, coarse with dust and heat. Their hurt is a river long run dry, their hearts are no longer aching because of each other. No, this love they have is simple and untainted. It is new and old and oh so comfortable. Into its warmth the dusk girl slips and her laugh is light as bells. “Then go Bexley Briar!”
But seriousness sharpens her lips and darkens her brow of milk and honey. “But do not leave it so long next time, for I miss you too.” With a shrug, a flare of golden wings Florentine warns at the last, “Be careful of boys, my friend, they are worse than girls.”
The Dusk girl watches her friend leave and wonders of the warmth in her heart, the old love she did not know before. Ah it is borne of the love of a sister, the love of a friend. Florentine smiles then, at ease to let her heart love.
@
florentine
rocking your pretty flower world
rocking your pretty flower world
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★