f l o r e n t i n e
The Night King stops her, with a flower, with a look that pierces her evening heart with starlight. She stands, wings arched, fleet-footed, the twilight breeze slipping through her feathers. Come, come, she fancies it beckons. Back out to race the night.
From Calligo’s darkness he had come, the night arriving to chase out the dusk. Florentine looks to the skies, to the growing stars he commands and his promise is their song:
Never.
His answer curls her lips into a smile, sharp with devilry and warm with gratitude. He adorns that one word with a voice, a sound, that lowers itself to caress along her spine. She trembles for the siren call of the night. Her eyes lift to his and what a mistake it is!
Amethyst clashes with his silver starlight, shattering until she is falling like glittering light upon a lake. Flora knows this lake, memories of the serpent boy, Lothaire, skitter their way from the depths of her mind. She longs to claw her way back as she wonders how deep these night boys’ eyes will sink her.
A breeze comes to save her, to tug at curls of dusky gold and ebony black, stirring the flowers that twine about the stone pillars. It steals her thank you from her lips and like fairy voices set it out to ring across the blossom-strewn temple.
Her eyes fall to the flower he presents her with then to the tangle of his mane cascading like shadow down his neck. “Keep it,” She breathes. “You lost the last one I told you to keep.” Her playful reprimand slips from lips painted with a nymph’s smile.
The Night King shifts, his gypsy coins tinkling, and as she looks to the skies she wonders if it is the call of the stars. She daydreams, when her eyes close shut, of wood fires and wild dancing beneath flickering flame and swirling smoke.
The dusk girl stands upon the temple threshold, the gods so sinfully forgotten; it is so easy for a girl to forget when her heart is too full. Restlessness turns her to water beside him, restless, shifting, stirring. Florentine is little more than the flowers on the pillars that will not be still, too stirred by wild, wild magic.
At his words her eyes fall to the dusting of petals she leaves across the temple floor. A trail for him to follow…
“You will always find night following dusk,” Flora sighs so softly that not even the temple can hear the reply she gives him.
Then she pauses, her eyes falling to behold the petals that stir about them. “Ah, they would make me a terrible spy.” She says with a laugh of bells that sets the dusk light dancing.
Such laughter sets her limbs free and she dances then. Those wings of curtseys and flight, draw patterns through petals as she circles the Night King. Her amethyst eyes draw across him. Wing tips chase her gaze, feather-soft touches trailing over his shoulder, his spine until they fall away like water. Her touch is gone so swiftly, only a phantom sensation tingles its memory upon their skin.
Florentine is so still, so close to him she drowns in jasmine and smoke when she asks, with a voice so raw, “Tell me how to be free of your kingdom’s thrall.” Her bright eyes blaze, “or am I always supposed to love the chasing night?” Flora’s wild heart asks, before it aches for her love of the dusk-lit sky and the promise she made to her Dusk Court Queen.
@Reichenbach - eeek, sorry >.<
this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
From Calligo’s darkness he had come, the night arriving to chase out the dusk. Florentine looks to the skies, to the growing stars he commands and his promise is their song:
Never.
His answer curls her lips into a smile, sharp with devilry and warm with gratitude. He adorns that one word with a voice, a sound, that lowers itself to caress along her spine. She trembles for the siren call of the night. Her eyes lift to his and what a mistake it is!
Amethyst clashes with his silver starlight, shattering until she is falling like glittering light upon a lake. Flora knows this lake, memories of the serpent boy, Lothaire, skitter their way from the depths of her mind. She longs to claw her way back as she wonders how deep these night boys’ eyes will sink her.
A breeze comes to save her, to tug at curls of dusky gold and ebony black, stirring the flowers that twine about the stone pillars. It steals her thank you from her lips and like fairy voices set it out to ring across the blossom-strewn temple.
Her eyes fall to the flower he presents her with then to the tangle of his mane cascading like shadow down his neck. “Keep it,” She breathes. “You lost the last one I told you to keep.” Her playful reprimand slips from lips painted with a nymph’s smile.
The Night King shifts, his gypsy coins tinkling, and as she looks to the skies she wonders if it is the call of the stars. She daydreams, when her eyes close shut, of wood fires and wild dancing beneath flickering flame and swirling smoke.
The dusk girl stands upon the temple threshold, the gods so sinfully forgotten; it is so easy for a girl to forget when her heart is too full. Restlessness turns her to water beside him, restless, shifting, stirring. Florentine is little more than the flowers on the pillars that will not be still, too stirred by wild, wild magic.
At his words her eyes fall to the dusting of petals she leaves across the temple floor. A trail for him to follow…
“You will always find night following dusk,” Flora sighs so softly that not even the temple can hear the reply she gives him.
Then she pauses, her eyes falling to behold the petals that stir about them. “Ah, they would make me a terrible spy.” She says with a laugh of bells that sets the dusk light dancing.
Such laughter sets her limbs free and she dances then. Those wings of curtseys and flight, draw patterns through petals as she circles the Night King. Her amethyst eyes draw across him. Wing tips chase her gaze, feather-soft touches trailing over his shoulder, his spine until they fall away like water. Her touch is gone so swiftly, only a phantom sensation tingles its memory upon their skin.
Florentine is so still, so close to him she drowns in jasmine and smoke when she asks, with a voice so raw, “Tell me how to be free of your kingdom’s thrall.” Her bright eyes blaze, “or am I always supposed to love the chasing night?” Flora’s wild heart asks, before it aches for her love of the dusk-lit sky and the promise she made to her Dusk Court Queen.
@Reichenbach - eeek, sorry >.<
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
