[P] but be nobody's darling

[Florentine]

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

She never listens.


“Strong women rarely do. Florentine muses as she watches the demon fly off with its catch. Berries of blood appear upon the dove lily white chest. The difference is stark, a reminder of the fragility of life. The demon is wild, her will is her own. She brings death with a flick of her claws and does it only to survive. That is what all strong women do: survive. They just do it bolder and braver than others. Or so Florentine thinks. 


“If it’s not…” Already Florentine’s mind has drifted towards her house and the potential for it to be occupied. “... How good are you at evictions? I think I would find the whole situation awkward. It may end up being a night under the stars.” Flora laughs, even as her stomach twists slightly and she peers toward the looming clouds, laden with snow. “A cold snowy night beneath the stars.” She adds with a chirp. 


They slowly weave the path to Flora’s home, and though the once-queen smiles, though her eyes close with the bliss of remembering, there is an ache within her breast. In every dark corner she looks for a flash of mahogany or ivory, a glimmer of gold. Anything to let her know her children are still alive. Has Asterion found them already? It is strange to wander with Seraphina here and not to go running off immediately to find her children. But she need rest, she needs a home to bring them back to - if she ever finds them again.


Are they even alive? 


Oh, that is a dangerous thought. It is ruin in her chest, it is catastrophic grief that rends her limb from limb and makes everything seem so pointless. What is life without her children living somewhere in existence? She would rather die before them. But maybe it was all too late.


They reach the cottage. It is a dark shadow within the wood. Ivy creeps up around its door. Its windows are dark and dirty. Its thatched roof lacks its one splendid gold. It seems to slumber, waiting for its owner to return. Florentine gazes at her home, still here, still existing. 


She leads Sera up to a window and peers in beyond the grime. It is still and quiet. “Definitely cobwebs.” Flora says, her lips curling into a playful smile. The gold of it hides the dark of worry and anxiety. “Do you mean what you said about spiders and helping me clean, Sera?” Florentine asks as she pushes the old door open. It creaks and its base catches across the tiled floor. “I think we have a lot of evictions ahead of us.” She murmurs as she steps beneath the exposed beams of the cottage, where old webs hang and spiders watch.


“Would you like the mop or the duster?” Florentine asks casually, still peering around her home. “We shall need our rubber gloves for this.”


@Seraphina - I have no words with which to defend myself. 

florentine
rocking your pretty flower world