f l o r e n t i n e
The Night King moves from her, slowly, so slowly. Each step he takes away pulls back a dark, dark veil that covered her.
Soon, too soon, the veil and the boy are gone. She looks to him still close, still near enough to touch, yet she feels a world between them a chasm that she longs to breach.
Just as her heart frets, as her wings threaten to burst, to open and carry her back to him, the world slips back to her from where the veil had been. The temple returns, silvery and beautiful, bathed in moonlight. Silver-washed flowers watch them from their places, twined up and up each marble pillar.
The sky commands her, but it is effort to pull her eyes from the night, to lift them from his inky black skin. When at last she does, the stars begin to pull her. Up and up and up they tug her soul, through their multitudes that shine. On and on they go and she blinks as she watches them. The sky shimmers and moves each star twinkling, each star calling, humming its own song through the vast, vast worlds.
Her breath returns, strong and vibrant, and easy at last. It is a breath still so full of jasmine, still so full of stardust and Denoctean magic. Her gaze falls down, and his silver eyes snag her there, with their siren call. The Dusk girl realizes then, her soul was still among the stars. Maybe Reichenbach would find it one day, dusted in stars, hidden by moons.
Her body draws her back from the darkness he pulls her into, with nerves that still tremble, alive and desiring of his touch.
Rannveig would kill me if I stole you away.
Flora’s eyes close for the pain the Night boy holds within his words. But it is nothing to the agony they inflict upon her. For a moment, she is not sure she can survive this night for all its pain, for all its blissful highs. As her eyes open, she wants to resent him, she wants to hate the Night King with his wild, wild magic and feral allure. For he is the sun and she is Icarus and he just keeps pulling her in.
If that is where you end, may Vespera watch you. Rannveig’s words haunt like ghosts.
“She won’t but… I cannot,” twilight whispers, weak against the force of night. The confession pours like blood from her lips, cut by the ultimate two words. Rannveig had become no more a queen to the twilight girl than a sister. Could this girl of flowers and gold truly turn on the love of a sister? Had Reichenbach still been closer, had her lips still been pressed to his skin and the veil of Night upon her, she might have done.
But he is not closer, her lips tingle only with the memory of his skin and the veil of night has returned to him alone. Stood here, the air is cool and her longing less, just slightly less.
Florentine has never felt so exposed, so alone, even with that longing in the Night King’s eyes.
Slowly, the girl steps back, away from him, away from the tide of night that pushes her to him, relentless and bold. Amethyst eyes watch as it eases its black, black way through his tangled mane. She watches it go, wondering how his mane felt there, how darkness felt upon his skin…
She could not touch him again, not now. No matter how they both stand, unable to leave, unable to give in.
Another step back and her wings begin to flare, caramel light pooling beneath the silver moon. “Keep the flower Reichenbach, it won’t die.”
Don’t forget me.
Her leg lifts to step to him, to step away from him, she doesn’t know which, not until she is a step closer and only then does she flee before he could stop her again. Scattering petals roll along the ground, spreading this way and that, bumping across his feet morosely.
But it is not just petals and a small, undying flower she left in the charge of the Night King, but a piece of her, something unseen, something that would ache, when she comes to realize it is missing.
@Reichenbach - saaaaaaaad
this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
Soon, too soon, the veil and the boy are gone. She looks to him still close, still near enough to touch, yet she feels a world between them a chasm that she longs to breach.
Just as her heart frets, as her wings threaten to burst, to open and carry her back to him, the world slips back to her from where the veil had been. The temple returns, silvery and beautiful, bathed in moonlight. Silver-washed flowers watch them from their places, twined up and up each marble pillar.
The sky commands her, but it is effort to pull her eyes from the night, to lift them from his inky black skin. When at last she does, the stars begin to pull her. Up and up and up they tug her soul, through their multitudes that shine. On and on they go and she blinks as she watches them. The sky shimmers and moves each star twinkling, each star calling, humming its own song through the vast, vast worlds.
Her breath returns, strong and vibrant, and easy at last. It is a breath still so full of jasmine, still so full of stardust and Denoctean magic. Her gaze falls down, and his silver eyes snag her there, with their siren call. The Dusk girl realizes then, her soul was still among the stars. Maybe Reichenbach would find it one day, dusted in stars, hidden by moons.
Her body draws her back from the darkness he pulls her into, with nerves that still tremble, alive and desiring of his touch.
Rannveig would kill me if I stole you away.
Flora’s eyes close for the pain the Night boy holds within his words. But it is nothing to the agony they inflict upon her. For a moment, she is not sure she can survive this night for all its pain, for all its blissful highs. As her eyes open, she wants to resent him, she wants to hate the Night King with his wild, wild magic and feral allure. For he is the sun and she is Icarus and he just keeps pulling her in.
If that is where you end, may Vespera watch you. Rannveig’s words haunt like ghosts.
“She won’t but… I cannot,” twilight whispers, weak against the force of night. The confession pours like blood from her lips, cut by the ultimate two words. Rannveig had become no more a queen to the twilight girl than a sister. Could this girl of flowers and gold truly turn on the love of a sister? Had Reichenbach still been closer, had her lips still been pressed to his skin and the veil of Night upon her, she might have done.
But he is not closer, her lips tingle only with the memory of his skin and the veil of night has returned to him alone. Stood here, the air is cool and her longing less, just slightly less.
Florentine has never felt so exposed, so alone, even with that longing in the Night King’s eyes.
Slowly, the girl steps back, away from him, away from the tide of night that pushes her to him, relentless and bold. Amethyst eyes watch as it eases its black, black way through his tangled mane. She watches it go, wondering how his mane felt there, how darkness felt upon his skin…
She could not touch him again, not now. No matter how they both stand, unable to leave, unable to give in.
Another step back and her wings begin to flare, caramel light pooling beneath the silver moon. “Keep the flower Reichenbach, it won’t die.”
Don’t forget me.
Her leg lifts to step to him, to step away from him, she doesn’t know which, not until she is a step closer and only then does she flee before he could stop her again. Scattering petals roll along the ground, spreading this way and that, bumping across his feet morosely.
But it is not just petals and a small, undying flower she left in the charge of the Night King, but a piece of her, something unseen, something that would ache, when she comes to realize it is missing.
@Reichenbach - saaaaaaaad
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
