f l o r e n t i n e
Florentine had never had to consider her belief of gods before. Having a faith had never been something expected of her. Until now.
The dusk girl looks from the wind swept clifftop, to the rustling grasses and up to the sky with its spattering of clouds. In all places - in the blue of the sky, in the ears of the grasses, the swell of the sea – she looks for Vespera’s hand. She waits for a glimmer of power, for the creep of magic pressing upon her spine. But there is nothing.
Nothing at all.
Maybe she cannot see? Maybe she does not look hard enough?
“Has anyone seen your gods?” She asks Inkheart absently as her eyes watch a bird soar. Flora had once seen a mechanical bird fly, the click and clack of its knife sharp wings were a beautiful and terrible thing to behold. It was a creature so removed from anything nature should be able to make and yet, to Flora, it was just another unique twist of magic and Time. “I would like to meet them. Maybe learn more, as you say.”
Florentine lets her dusky eyes drop to drink in the midnight back of Inkheart. “I would feel wrong walking into a temple when I do not believe in their power…” Her brow furrows, hidden beneath the thick tangle of her honeyed forelock. “I do believe in them for I have seen other gods before. So, I suppose they exist, but I do not like their control over something I think they have no right to control…”
Her words trail off and for a moment she wonders how small-minded she may be. How she has shrunk a world of possibility into something small and impossible, just because she struggled to grasp a concept.
But no. No.
She could not open herself to such thought, Time was a wild thing and should be left as such.
And yet…
Inkheart’s words echo back to her: They are now ONE, WHOLE with the cycles of the sun and moon. They clutch at Florentine’s gut, at her heart and stop her soul from its flight.
Could anyone join Time so completely? To be so at one with it that you cannot tell where one being and entity ends and the other begins… It was a beautiful thing to think, but oh, even as she does, her heart beats green. Envy. That unwelcome little demon slips through her veins and for a moment she is jealous of the ability to be so at one with Time… Maybe she resents it only because she so yearns to have her own power back…
It is a longing so powerful that there are days when the dagger weighs so heavily about her throat she has nearly cast it into the sea. Her heart beats in trepidation that one day she might, that grief and frustration would overwhelm her so and she would break, parting with her dagger forever.
Her lashes shutter closed, fanning against her cheek as she removes herself from her thoughts – if only for a moment.
When those amethyst eyes open and find the light at Inkheart’s breast, Florentine’s smile is restored. “I have met a sage once.” Flora says conversationally, “He was rude and dull.” Her lips purse, before a wicked smile creeps across her lips. She leans in towards her fellow woman to add, “I swear he smelt musty too.”
The wind chases away her mischievous words. “I suppose I might tolerate his presence again to know his thoughts on gods and theology… Unless you could direct me to one that you know?” She is hopeful, for she is not sure her pride could withstand Charlemagne yet. There is only so much a romantically aspiring woman could take of male rejection in one go…
@Inkheart
this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
The dusk girl looks from the wind swept clifftop, to the rustling grasses and up to the sky with its spattering of clouds. In all places - in the blue of the sky, in the ears of the grasses, the swell of the sea – she looks for Vespera’s hand. She waits for a glimmer of power, for the creep of magic pressing upon her spine. But there is nothing.
Nothing at all.
Maybe she cannot see? Maybe she does not look hard enough?
“Has anyone seen your gods?” She asks Inkheart absently as her eyes watch a bird soar. Flora had once seen a mechanical bird fly, the click and clack of its knife sharp wings were a beautiful and terrible thing to behold. It was a creature so removed from anything nature should be able to make and yet, to Flora, it was just another unique twist of magic and Time. “I would like to meet them. Maybe learn more, as you say.”
Florentine lets her dusky eyes drop to drink in the midnight back of Inkheart. “I would feel wrong walking into a temple when I do not believe in their power…” Her brow furrows, hidden beneath the thick tangle of her honeyed forelock. “I do believe in them for I have seen other gods before. So, I suppose they exist, but I do not like their control over something I think they have no right to control…”
Her words trail off and for a moment she wonders how small-minded she may be. How she has shrunk a world of possibility into something small and impossible, just because she struggled to grasp a concept.
But no. No.
She could not open herself to such thought, Time was a wild thing and should be left as such.
And yet…
Inkheart’s words echo back to her: They are now ONE, WHOLE with the cycles of the sun and moon. They clutch at Florentine’s gut, at her heart and stop her soul from its flight.
Could anyone join Time so completely? To be so at one with it that you cannot tell where one being and entity ends and the other begins… It was a beautiful thing to think, but oh, even as she does, her heart beats green. Envy. That unwelcome little demon slips through her veins and for a moment she is jealous of the ability to be so at one with Time… Maybe she resents it only because she so yearns to have her own power back…
It is a longing so powerful that there are days when the dagger weighs so heavily about her throat she has nearly cast it into the sea. Her heart beats in trepidation that one day she might, that grief and frustration would overwhelm her so and she would break, parting with her dagger forever.
Her lashes shutter closed, fanning against her cheek as she removes herself from her thoughts – if only for a moment.
When those amethyst eyes open and find the light at Inkheart’s breast, Florentine’s smile is restored. “I have met a sage once.” Flora says conversationally, “He was rude and dull.” Her lips purse, before a wicked smile creeps across her lips. She leans in towards her fellow woman to add, “I swear he smelt musty too.”
The wind chases away her mischievous words. “I suppose I might tolerate his presence again to know his thoughts on gods and theology… Unless you could direct me to one that you know?” She is hopeful, for she is not sure her pride could withstand Charlemagne yet. There is only so much a romantically aspiring woman could take of male rejection in one go…
@Inkheart
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
