[P] earth's the right place for love

[Florentine]

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

If Florentine saw the way Bexley stopped amidst the guests and stared at one of her petals, she says nothing about it. Rather, She lets them settle together beside the table of drinks and wicked games. The air is warm beside Bexley, her body golden fire there to melt the caramel of her own golden skin. Her gaze slides down the platinum of the Solterran’s hair. It runs like silk between fingertips, so soft it is almost a fountain. Gazing upon Bexley now is like sinking into memories of what was and what could have been. Ah, they had been so young then, both so full of potential, the whole of Novus laying like treasure within their grasp. The girls were rich with potential and fate was little more than a whisper in their ears.


More petals fall like autumn leaves. They twirl like the first one had, they gather like snow around Bexley Briar’s toes. The way the girls watch each other… looks laden with so much that has gone unspoken over the years. Upon the fae-girl’s tongue is a hundred things she wished she could have said, when Bexley was injured, when she lost Acton and every single moment of hardship that passed between then and now. Always Florentine had asked after Bexley, always the girl had held a space within her heart, the place of a first love. A place that in many ways should never have been usurped by Reichenbach. Yet, if one thing Florentine has learned, it is that the heart does not listen to reason. It can only lick its wounds after and stitch itself back together with the threads of regret and experience.


Her laughter is a bell and a giggle made deeper, richer, by the warm alcohol that loosens her muscles. The last time she had been to a party was the night she discovered she was pregnant. Now her children are lost and the once-queen welcomes the numbing burn of the amber liquid that helps her forget the shambles of her life. “Have we?” Florentine asks with a grin playful and sultry, “You might have, Bexley.” Florentine’s satin grin grows, lazy and dark with the light buzz of party nights, “But I have never been so scandalous.” The girl jokes, becoming more than fae then. She turns impish, her amethyst eyes a dark, bruising purple that she presses, gently, into Bexley’s skin. 


Leaving her lie to play like static in the space between them, Florentine turns to the game card before them. “But there is no time like the present. So, truth or dare?” Beneath her lashes, beneath the thick wash of her salted caramel hair, Florentine tips her gaze to her girl friend and waits. 


Which will you chose, Bexley Briar?


@Bexley - eeeee. <3 

florentine
rocking your pretty flower world