[AW] and the leaf is singing still

[Florentine]

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

What is your dagger made of?


Of all the questions he could have asked her…


His words throw Florentine back into the Rift, back to where Lysander and her father are. Then it takes her even further back, to Novus, to this very island when her children were still young and she dared to try and unite her family, her children with their grandfather.


But that was never meant to be. Now they are scattered again. Asterion, somewhere here, her children too. She has come to this island once more and found no one - not her brother nor her babies. Only this fae man who waters her with eyes as green as her lover’s. 


Flora looks away from him and down to her strange dagger, “It is bone.” She breathes lightly. “Bone from a plagued horse turned into a monster by sickness, and then torched by a dragon in its fire…” Over and over she turns the dagger, watching how light gleams across its wicked length. It is otherworldly in her grasp. “I used to have a prettier one, a dagger made of silver and flowers.” And its scabbard, woven silver like vines… Lysander gave it to her. Now it is shattered, lying in pieces, never to be remade. She has no idea her children carry two pieces, her self the hilt, but its tip is lost, fallen into some interim world.


“This dagger is the only thing that can cut between worlds now. My first was broken by magic.” But oh, her newest dagger is a thing more monstrous than the first, made by a fetic magic and run through by endless Time. She sighs lightly and looks up to the elven man who reminds her so much of Lysander. Her heart aches, she wishes to press her body into his and pretend for just a moment he was not him but Lysander. Even florentine knows the cruelty of making Septimus anything other than who he is, even for a moment of her own comfort. So she doesn’t. Instead she says, “You havent seen two children around have you? Twins? Both have gold antlers, a girl, white and a brown boy? They were born on the island, i hoped they might be here, somewhere.”


@Septimus

florentine
rocking your pretty flower world