f l o r e n t i n e
Rannveig was carved from the night. Her body a mold of the star-dusted sky and warm sunshine glow blended together. In the dimming light her sun-gold skin had faded, muted by shadow into the smudged colour of night-lit cloud.
Florentine took a breath, a small but reverent thing, for she was quite struck in that moment by the way feminine beauty and authority married so perfectly within the Dusk Queen. Maybe this was something the flower girl could aspire to? If only she could tame her wild heart…
The west wind blew, galloping its way towards the setting sun and it tugged at Flora. It whispered and laughed its sea-sprite laugh into her honey ears and beckoned her out to sea. Oh to chase that sun and find where dusk truly ended and night truly started! But she doesn’t, though her heart begins to beat harder and her limbs feel restless against the binds of formality.
But then Rannveig’s offer overwhelms the whispering winds and Florentine falls as still as stone. Her body is silent, even her heart falls still. Words are robbed, not just from her tongue but her mind too. Emotions, normally so vibrant, scatter and leave the dusk girl so oddly numb.
“Well that is a surprise,” Florentine bleats. She lets a silence descend then, so thick with newly cultivated thought. This was nothing that she wanted or aspired to…
“Is this a wise move?” She asks slowly, suddenly doubting, not just the sanity of her queen, but also her ability to make sensible decisions. A toe digs and snuffs its was into the dirt, an oddly childish gesture for a girl adorned in the glory of early womanhood. Slowly her eyes lift to Rannveig, questioning amethyst meeting serious sea-green. It seems the queen was deadly serious, oh dear.
The smell of lavender and rosemary rises from her skin, a dignified smell, utterly at odds with the whispered confession that chases her earlier question. “You do know I have a terrible memory and do not have a political bone in my body?” Then, after a moments pause, because she may as well lay it all on the line now and make sure Rannveig (since she had obviously taken leave of her senses) is as informed as possible… “I like to party too much in the Night Court...”
But then comes Rannveig’s great commission and its preceding observation. There is more dirt nudging from Florentine’s toe as she wishes she had not been quite so forthcoming with her confessions. It seemed the queen had sharper eyes than Florentine gave her credit for. Maybe the young mare of flowers was not the only one adept as a little spying now and again. Or maybe Rannveig was just intuitive, a good read of character…
Either way, the words shiver their way along the curves of the dusk girl’s spine and curl their way into her heart. There they light a spark and an inferno begins to swell. “I will.” She says whisper quiet but as firmly as stone. For what else was there to say?
“I have quite wanted to visit Solterra…”
Ah, that.
@Rannveig
this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
Florentine took a breath, a small but reverent thing, for she was quite struck in that moment by the way feminine beauty and authority married so perfectly within the Dusk Queen. Maybe this was something the flower girl could aspire to? If only she could tame her wild heart…
The west wind blew, galloping its way towards the setting sun and it tugged at Flora. It whispered and laughed its sea-sprite laugh into her honey ears and beckoned her out to sea. Oh to chase that sun and find where dusk truly ended and night truly started! But she doesn’t, though her heart begins to beat harder and her limbs feel restless against the binds of formality.
But then Rannveig’s offer overwhelms the whispering winds and Florentine falls as still as stone. Her body is silent, even her heart falls still. Words are robbed, not just from her tongue but her mind too. Emotions, normally so vibrant, scatter and leave the dusk girl so oddly numb.
“Well that is a surprise,” Florentine bleats. She lets a silence descend then, so thick with newly cultivated thought. This was nothing that she wanted or aspired to…
“Is this a wise move?” She asks slowly, suddenly doubting, not just the sanity of her queen, but also her ability to make sensible decisions. A toe digs and snuffs its was into the dirt, an oddly childish gesture for a girl adorned in the glory of early womanhood. Slowly her eyes lift to Rannveig, questioning amethyst meeting serious sea-green. It seems the queen was deadly serious, oh dear.
The smell of lavender and rosemary rises from her skin, a dignified smell, utterly at odds with the whispered confession that chases her earlier question. “You do know I have a terrible memory and do not have a political bone in my body?” Then, after a moments pause, because she may as well lay it all on the line now and make sure Rannveig (since she had obviously taken leave of her senses) is as informed as possible… “I like to party too much in the Night Court...”
But then comes Rannveig’s great commission and its preceding observation. There is more dirt nudging from Florentine’s toe as she wishes she had not been quite so forthcoming with her confessions. It seemed the queen had sharper eyes than Florentine gave her credit for. Maybe the young mare of flowers was not the only one adept as a little spying now and again. Or maybe Rannveig was just intuitive, a good read of character…
Either way, the words shiver their way along the curves of the dusk girl’s spine and curl their way into her heart. There they light a spark and an inferno begins to swell. “I will.” She says whisper quiet but as firmly as stone. For what else was there to say?
“I have quite wanted to visit Solterra…”
Ah, that.
@Rannveig
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
