[quote pid='2359' dateline='1501681280']
f l o r e n t i n e
Summer arrived with scolding heat and sweat slicked skin. On its heels, dawn prowled, leonine through the lands, turning all to gold with sunrise eyes.
Behind the lion comes the twilight girl, carried in upon the fringes of the night. There is no dusk light here to blow the cobwebs from her heart. But a new day dawns, appeasing her with pink-blue skies.
The sun rises and it is finest here in all the lands. Flora welcomes it, just as she had welcomed the revelry of night in Denocte, the ravages of day in Solterra and the twilight bruises of Terrastella.
The dusk girl dances in gold: through swirling motes in pouring light.
She dances through bluebells and is surely hears their jingling laughter.
She dances past leaves of emerald green, then in a clearing falls to stillness.
Upon a branch, its slim body so tall and proud, an eagle sits. Its eyes gleam hard as it watches her and she it. From her lungs its beauty steals her breath and her smile grows so keen and wild. “I have found your sleeping place.” She whispers to this regal bird, for ‘til now it had only let her see it floating high upon sea breezes.
It looks away, then back to her before its wings unfurl to fly through trees and shrubs then up to dawn’s new sky above.
Over the morning song of birds and bees, a twig snaps with a startling crack. Florentine spins, with swirling, honeyed hair and a rushing heart within her chest. Lavender petals, startled and free, tumble loose from her tangled mane.
She is held still in rapture, in wonder.
Her amethyst eyes skip from floret to floret held tight within their flowery crown. Flora blinks but lets her eyes lower to find the gold rings that glimmer from his nostril. But then, oh then, they fall further still to the wings that rest upon each ankle. She blinks again, her gaze a twinkling star of dusky amethyst that, with great effort, rises from his delicate wings.
Their eyes, their bodies, their flowers, are the pinks and purples of dusk and dawn. Florentine and Ipomoea are two skies, two bodies, so similar, so separate… She looks to her mirror boy of flowers, wings and brilliant eyes and is struck dumb, much to her surprise.
Her mouth opens, to speak… to greet him… to be polite… yet all that sounds is a huff of surprise. At once her mouth snaps shut and her amethyst eyes simply blink once more; so bright, so… dumbfounded.
@Ipomoea - meep!
this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
Behind the lion comes the twilight girl, carried in upon the fringes of the night. There is no dusk light here to blow the cobwebs from her heart. But a new day dawns, appeasing her with pink-blue skies.
The sun rises and it is finest here in all the lands. Flora welcomes it, just as she had welcomed the revelry of night in Denocte, the ravages of day in Solterra and the twilight bruises of Terrastella.
The dusk girl dances in gold: through swirling motes in pouring light.
She dances through bluebells and is surely hears their jingling laughter.
She dances past leaves of emerald green, then in a clearing falls to stillness.
Upon a branch, its slim body so tall and proud, an eagle sits. Its eyes gleam hard as it watches her and she it. From her lungs its beauty steals her breath and her smile grows so keen and wild. “I have found your sleeping place.” She whispers to this regal bird, for ‘til now it had only let her see it floating high upon sea breezes.
It looks away, then back to her before its wings unfurl to fly through trees and shrubs then up to dawn’s new sky above.
Over the morning song of birds and bees, a twig snaps with a startling crack. Florentine spins, with swirling, honeyed hair and a rushing heart within her chest. Lavender petals, startled and free, tumble loose from her tangled mane.
She is held still in rapture, in wonder.
Her amethyst eyes skip from floret to floret held tight within their flowery crown. Flora blinks but lets her eyes lower to find the gold rings that glimmer from his nostril. But then, oh then, they fall further still to the wings that rest upon each ankle. She blinks again, her gaze a twinkling star of dusky amethyst that, with great effort, rises from his delicate wings.
Their eyes, their bodies, their flowers, are the pinks and purples of dusk and dawn. Florentine and Ipomoea are two skies, two bodies, so similar, so separate… She looks to her mirror boy of flowers, wings and brilliant eyes and is struck dumb, much to her surprise.
Her mouth opens, to speak… to greet him… to be polite… yet all that sounds is a huff of surprise. At once her mouth snaps shut and her amethyst eyes simply blink once more; so bright, so… dumbfounded.
@Ipomoea - meep!
[/quote]
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
