[AW] we drew in revelry;

[Florentine]

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Mother.
 
Florentine is corrected, lightly. Her nose crinkles, confusion seeping over her like a cloak.
 
A Father, but actually mother. Yet also father but definitely mother…..
 
Florentine muses over the situation, her brows lifted, her lips slightly parted in an ooh….. Her head tilts, curious and she blinks, slow, slow.
 
Her head tilts her lips parting her surprise slipping out as a light, “huh.” Her gaze lowers from Theo’s down to where the warrior girl’s face gazes up at Florentine in a haphazard sketch. Her brows crinkle, her nose wrinkling too as deep thought crosses across her mind. “So, your father… wonderful man that he sounds to be… conceived and carried you… but… who did he have sex with, himself?” And at the last word her eyes grew wide with surprise at the idea of a man getting himself pregnant.
 
Florentine falls back with shock, resting against the back of her chair as she further considers. “Magic is a very strange beast. I have seen it do many things, but that is quite spectacular. Though I guess, with a god, anything is possible.” And Idly she then begins to wonder if Lysander might have been capable of such a feat before he became mortal. If he was, she was rather pleased he still decided he enjoyed women more…
 
Florentine makes a note to ask him one day… when he returns from his mission hunting a dictator king. Oh please return, her fitful heart begs him. How light she can be one moment, wondering of his power to make a child any such way and then in the next breath brought so low by desperate loss and worry for the man who left with her heart. Was there anything that could be worse than this?
 
Florentine presses her wings tight to her sides, instinctive yet never once thinking why. She does not imagine that soon she will know heartbreak like no other, worse than the day she ended her relationship with Reichenbach and thought she might never be whole again, worse even than the threat of Lysander never returning to her.
 
But Florentine has known the ache of love, she has known how much it stings and felt its yearning deep, deep within her. So she recognizes that quiet pool of turmoil that shadows Theo’s gaze. Gone is the counsel of a once-queen, and instead her words are voiced by a girl whose heart is whole yet full of scars. “Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all,” Florentine murmurs lightly. “I do not regret that I loved Reichenbach as much as I did, no matter how my heart was broken.” The golden girl pauses, her eyes drinking in theodosia, “Marisol has a good heart, she loves us and will look after all of us. Some of us more than others.” Her head tips toward Theo, her smile naming what her lips do not.
 
After a moment Florentine slowly takes a breath, “Ah, I am weary from my travels here. Forgive me if I take my leave, Theo.” The girl rises, stiff and weary and more than a little queasy. Yet it does not show behind a smile that is wide and only a little weary. “You fight for Us.” Florentine murmurs gently. “But don’t forget to fight for those you love too. They may just surprise you. Goodnight, Theo.”
 
And with a final small smile  Florentine places the picture before Theodosia and it is no warrior who looks up from the page, but a girl gilded in silver, bright enough to command the whole earth to love her.


@Theodosia 

florentine
rocking your pretty flower world