f l o r e n t i n e
Florentine was born to dance. There was no way around it. It had been no surprise, therefore, that she had been lured to the Night Court party like a moth would a flame. The music she had followed still twirls and leaps its way through her mind now. With a myriad of tunes humming on her lips, Florentine makes her way across Elutheria plain. She is mud splattered and hair tangled. Each slender limb of sunset gold was as dirtied as the next but there was no space in Flora’s heart to care.
The dusk girl pushes through the plain of long grasses and wild flowers, seeds and petals sticking to her dirty-damp skin. Her hair, honey gold and flower-strewn, is a tangled mess of joy and adventure. Solterra lies to her back, and this far North there is not much further that the dusk-girl could roam. The only land that still reaches out beyond her is Solterra.
Inkheart, that girl of black night and mid-day glow, had woven into Florentine’s mind a picture of Solterra that was so vivid it ensnared her every sense. It was Inkheart’s beguiling imagery that has Florentine traipsing across the plains in search of this court of warm sunlight and blooming flowers.
For each step that carries the dusk girl closer to Solterra, the winds beckon her to fly the rest of the way. They stoop beneath the layers of her wings, snagging in the fine tines of each feather and urging her up, up. But oh how her legs yearn to walk, to romp, to feel.
It is as she is romping, feeling the wild nip of grasses and the barbed flowers snagging her skin, that she notices a thick mop of white curls. In the sunlight they gleam burnished gold.
There is a moment of secret silence as Florentine lets her amethyst gaze roam over the other girl’s body of gentle curves and sweeping sinew. There is a twinge, deep within her body, an emotion – a pain – she cannot quite place. It tightens her lips and sharpens her eyes against the other girl’s beauty. But for the latter, she cannot help but look.
“Good afternoon.” Florentine begins with a surprising formality, for her. However, that curl of her lips and the whisper smile they wear, is playful, flirtatious. Her amethyst eyes, curious, chase Bexley’s as they dart hither and thither with enthralling intensity. “Have you lost something?”
@Bexley <3 So sorry I did not know you had posted, but I am super keen to see where this goes!!
this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
The dusk girl pushes through the plain of long grasses and wild flowers, seeds and petals sticking to her dirty-damp skin. Her hair, honey gold and flower-strewn, is a tangled mess of joy and adventure. Solterra lies to her back, and this far North there is not much further that the dusk-girl could roam. The only land that still reaches out beyond her is Solterra.
Inkheart, that girl of black night and mid-day glow, had woven into Florentine’s mind a picture of Solterra that was so vivid it ensnared her every sense. It was Inkheart’s beguiling imagery that has Florentine traipsing across the plains in search of this court of warm sunlight and blooming flowers.
For each step that carries the dusk girl closer to Solterra, the winds beckon her to fly the rest of the way. They stoop beneath the layers of her wings, snagging in the fine tines of each feather and urging her up, up. But oh how her legs yearn to walk, to romp, to feel.
It is as she is romping, feeling the wild nip of grasses and the barbed flowers snagging her skin, that she notices a thick mop of white curls. In the sunlight they gleam burnished gold.
There is a moment of secret silence as Florentine lets her amethyst gaze roam over the other girl’s body of gentle curves and sweeping sinew. There is a twinge, deep within her body, an emotion – a pain – she cannot quite place. It tightens her lips and sharpens her eyes against the other girl’s beauty. But for the latter, she cannot help but look.
“Good afternoon.” Florentine begins with a surprising formality, for her. However, that curl of her lips and the whisper smile they wear, is playful, flirtatious. Her amethyst eyes, curious, chase Bexley’s as they dart hither and thither with enthralling intensity. “Have you lost something?”
@
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
