[P] earth's the right place for love

[Florentine]

i'm a pretty flower girl
check out my pretty flower curls

One of Florentine’s many faults is her nosiness. The invitation to the party went out and the fae-woman’s curiosity got the better of her. She longed to see houses she had never seen before, to cross paths with faces new and beautiful  and unfamiliar. Ah she yearned to speak and hear the languages and accents of distant lands, worlds and local places. So it is no surprise she comes to the party tonight.


It has been so long since she last stepped upon Solterran soil, and even longer since she attended a party here. Slowly the gilded girl meanders through the hall, filled with music and dancers who sway, their tails swirling as hems of great gowns. Sequins catch the light, powdered metal, fine as dust, lie pressed upon cheeks and throats. They glitter in the light, catching the flickering of lamps. This whole place is decadent, from its polished statues to its guests.


Florentine might be the only girl here with her hair still strangely tangled, with the scent of ozone still clinging to her skin from when she flew just that breath too high and sunk into a cloud its belly full of rain. Petals tumble at her feet, but she does not watch the way they drift into the dance floor, or out across to the hall of statues. 


Amethyst eyes drink everything in, until they stop. They snag upon Bexley Briar as a rabbit does in a bramble bush. Florentine will always know the shape of the Solterran woman. She will always know how her gold is like the sun at its highest. Being held in Bexley’s blue-flame eyes is akin to being cradled by the sun. Bexley Briar burns the wings off anyone who dares to fly too close, too reckless. Her splendour paralyses, her presence intoxicates. Of course Florentine would go to her.


Light and nimble as she has ever been, Florentine slips like ink through the crowds. The sound of glasses clinking is like a melody. The music of the band resonates through champagne flutes and its sound is holy, otherworldly. Florentine reaches her oldest friend. Her gaze plays along the Solterran woman’s smile. “Bexley Briar, I have missed you.” Then Florentine tips her delicate head to see the stand upon the bar. Truth or dare, it reads stark and bold. “Is one ever too old to play truth of dare?” The Terrastellan asks with a tilt of her head and a wicked smile curling the corners of her petal soft lips. “What wicked games they have here.”


@Bexley - eeeee. <3 

florentine
rocking your pretty flower world