[P] and I know this is a weakness;

[Florentine]

i'm a pretty flower girl
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Florentine.
 
That name stirs something within her. It whispers in and down through the black waters beneath which she lies. With desperate hands it pulls her up, up, up.
 
Consciousness ascends, as awareness peels back and her pain sets in, sharp and deep and unremitting. Such pain it is that steals the breath from her lungs, that remembers how her body broke like tinder before a monster. Flames have made Florentine their own. Her wounds burn, hot as fire. Her traumatised skin glows, embers in the aftermath of an inferno.
 
Florentine is always slim. She has always been delicate and slender, elven; the fae queen they call her but, in this bed of cushions, she appears more fragile still. Even with her wing spread limply at her side, this girl is dwarfed by the healer’s plush cushions.
 
Sleep beckons to her and it is as welcoming as it had been that moment upon the mountainside. Willingly she succumbs, drifting upon the midnight current. But the smell of forget-me-nots has her stirring. Inhale, exhale, ah, she knows those breaths as though they were her own. That breathing pulls upon her shattered mind and slowly, awareness dawns within her. Familiarity heats her chest and her smile is a slow lazy thing, drunk on herbs and too much pain. “Oh,” Flora whispers, coarse as sand, soft as silk. “I am still alive then. What a turn up for the books.”
 
Slowly those amethyst eyes open. They are hazy and unfocussed as they gaze curiously at the figure beside her. Moments bleed into the next, but slowly her smile grows as the figure beside her sharpens into focus. Her gaze trails over bloodied antlers and down their sharp tines to eyes, verdant as leaves. “Gosh,” She hums, musical and bright. “What did I do to deserve a handsome boy at my bedside?”
 
What a distraction he is from the searing ache of her hind limb (and she dare not look for it does not move when she asks it to).   “What is your name then?” The flower queen asks with a tilt of her gilded head and a gleam in her eye.

@Lysander - I am not sure I can write wounded Flora easily... xDD 

florentine
rocking your pretty flower world