f l o r e n t i n e
Pessimism sits, antsy upon her tongue. Florentine feels its festering nature and swallows it into nothingness. “Why would the gods choose not to live among the mortals?” She asks when at last her pessimism is tempered.
Did these gods not care for their worshippers? Or the mortals that reside within the lands their magic, supposedly, forged?
Oh she was a girl too amiable, too sociable for her own good and her eyes lift to the Terrastellan skies and she wonders where the gods reside.
For all her questions, for all her doubting, Florentine does not mean to place the worms of doubt that twist within Inkheart’s mind. She sees the press of the midnight girl’s lips, contrasted by the glow of sunlight at her breast. She was a contrary creature, Solis’ servant, a wielder of light, contained in a body as black as Calligo’s shadows.
“Mmmhmm,” Florentine sings, her smile sly upon her lips. Yet a frown is swift to draw its way across her features. Where there truly no other sages she could ask? She feared it was a burnt bridge with the dawn boy, Charlemagne… He had been so rude after all – not that she had carried herself with any semblance of decorum either… Flora had been quite rude but it still remained a mystery just how their amiable conversation had fallen into such chaos and dislike.
The North calls to her and she looks to the mountains that rise like jagged spires up to heaven. The tallest of all stands proud, its peak misted in cloud. She looks long, so long that the silence grows awkwardly between her and Inkheart. But there is no silence in her head, for the whispers of intrigue fill her mind’s every corner. The girl, sunset gold and dusk purple, is not sure whether it is the call of Verenor Peak and its hidden temple, or her own thoughts that prompt her to go.
Either way, those voices grow and grow and claw at her skin until she answers their cry with only a small, “yes.” It was not a yes she intended for now, though suddenly Inkheart is leaving and directing her to go and seek answers. Behind her, Florentine is sure she hears the mountain laugh. “Goodbye, Inkheart. A pleasure.” She says with a gracious smile, wings flaring into a playful curtsey. But that warm smile is only fleeting, for when she turns back to the mountain, her eyes, bright and purple, darken for the journey to come.
In silence, in a breath of feathers, her wings flare as she heads for Verenor Peak.
@Inkheart - all wrapped up ^.^
this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
Did these gods not care for their worshippers? Or the mortals that reside within the lands their magic, supposedly, forged?
Oh she was a girl too amiable, too sociable for her own good and her eyes lift to the Terrastellan skies and she wonders where the gods reside.
For all her questions, for all her doubting, Florentine does not mean to place the worms of doubt that twist within Inkheart’s mind. She sees the press of the midnight girl’s lips, contrasted by the glow of sunlight at her breast. She was a contrary creature, Solis’ servant, a wielder of light, contained in a body as black as Calligo’s shadows.
“Mmmhmm,” Florentine sings, her smile sly upon her lips. Yet a frown is swift to draw its way across her features. Where there truly no other sages she could ask? She feared it was a burnt bridge with the dawn boy, Charlemagne… He had been so rude after all – not that she had carried herself with any semblance of decorum either… Flora had been quite rude but it still remained a mystery just how their amiable conversation had fallen into such chaos and dislike.
The North calls to her and she looks to the mountains that rise like jagged spires up to heaven. The tallest of all stands proud, its peak misted in cloud. She looks long, so long that the silence grows awkwardly between her and Inkheart. But there is no silence in her head, for the whispers of intrigue fill her mind’s every corner. The girl, sunset gold and dusk purple, is not sure whether it is the call of Verenor Peak and its hidden temple, or her own thoughts that prompt her to go.
Either way, those voices grow and grow and claw at her skin until she answers their cry with only a small, “yes.” It was not a yes she intended for now, though suddenly Inkheart is leaving and directing her to go and seek answers. Behind her, Florentine is sure she hears the mountain laugh. “Goodbye, Inkheart. A pleasure.” She says with a gracious smile, wings flaring into a playful curtsey. But that warm smile is only fleeting, for when she turns back to the mountain, her eyes, bright and purple, darken for the journey to come.
In silence, in a breath of feathers, her wings flare as she heads for Verenor Peak.
@Inkheart - all wrapped up ^.^
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
