f l o r e n t i n e
It was fitting the Terrastellan girls should reunite beneath a sky lost in the final throes of dusk. As she goes, Florentine does not lift her eyes to gaze at the broken blues and ravaging reds that sweep across the fretful sky. If she did, she may wonder of the ever painful dying of the day.
Rannveig stands in the heart of the fields, her body the mirror of the star-strewn night and day bright sky above. Shadows descend upon her, bathing her in murky light and bruised purples. For all the drama of the dying day, Flora walks with steady ease towards her sovereign. Her name had been called in starlight and whispers, so barely heard it may have only been made of shadow. Yet the flower girl had heeded Rannveig's call and roused herself from her considerations of gods and temples.
Painted in the gold of a sun’s parting light, the dusk girl comes to rest beside her queen. Only then to her amethyst eyes tilt up to add purple to the fading skies. Her body is all muscle sore and bone weary. Even the flowers of her mane have begun to blink closed, anticipating the impending rest of night. Her wings and limbs ache for the day’s discoveries (of gods and awkward boy interactions), but her heart beats a strong, keen and fierce, tattoo against her breast. It will not rest easy this night, so filled as it is with worries of gods and buoyed by its unsinkable spirit.
Finally her eyes fall from the dusk strewn sky to settle upon her leader. “I am not sure I will ever get over the sunsets here.” She remarks softly. Much the same as she would never get over the beauty of the night in Denocte… Florentine could only yearn to see the gold of sunlight in Solterra, or the blue-gold haze of dawn in Delumine. Her heart leaps with their calling. She would go to them – how could she not?
@Rannveig - of course Flora accepts, thank you <33
this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
Rannveig stands in the heart of the fields, her body the mirror of the star-strewn night and day bright sky above. Shadows descend upon her, bathing her in murky light and bruised purples. For all the drama of the dying day, Flora walks with steady ease towards her sovereign. Her name had been called in starlight and whispers, so barely heard it may have only been made of shadow. Yet the flower girl had heeded Rannveig's call and roused herself from her considerations of gods and temples.
Painted in the gold of a sun’s parting light, the dusk girl comes to rest beside her queen. Only then to her amethyst eyes tilt up to add purple to the fading skies. Her body is all muscle sore and bone weary. Even the flowers of her mane have begun to blink closed, anticipating the impending rest of night. Her wings and limbs ache for the day’s discoveries (of gods and awkward boy interactions), but her heart beats a strong, keen and fierce, tattoo against her breast. It will not rest easy this night, so filled as it is with worries of gods and buoyed by its unsinkable spirit.
Finally her eyes fall from the dusk strewn sky to settle upon her leader. “I am not sure I will ever get over the sunsets here.” She remarks softly. Much the same as she would never get over the beauty of the night in Denocte… Florentine could only yearn to see the gold of sunlight in Solterra, or the blue-gold haze of dawn in Delumine. Her heart leaps with their calling. She would go to them – how could she not?
@Rannveig - of course Flora accepts, thank you <33
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
