Night ebbed in, shadows creeping forth across the fields. Twilight light brushed across the skies with hues of teal and gold. The clouds were lazy and restful, idly drifting their way towards the sun.
It was of no surprise then, that the world below also slipped so steadily into slumber. Grasses became more shadowed, dusk flies gathered in groups, dancing to a song only they could hear.
All was still. All was peaceful, but for the buttercream girl who dances through the meadow. How many times had she danced here? How many grasses already recognized her nimble feet and slender legs? How many flowers turned with sleepy eyes to watch the flower girl pass by, adorned in the colours of their meadow?
This gloaming is no different tonight and the girl still dances, her eyes upon the growing starlight. She dances for her heart is heavy and she begs her limbs to be light where it cannot. She dances for she fears, if she were to stop, she may turn to stone – so heavy is she with sorrow.
There is a song upon the wind, a melody Flora cannot name and does not know. It puts wings beneath her limbs, lightens her step and chases the sorrowful, ghostly words from her mind: he will never be able to love you, and now, neither will I.
Bexley’s words ebb away for the aching beauty of the meadow song and Florentine turns, all gold and flowers, to pursue the voice that eases her so. There is a boy ahead, as pink as the sunset sky, but unlike that bold, bold sky, he is soft and hesitant. He lingers beyond the song, close enough to hear, far enough away to guard himself.
The girl, the emissary, ever keen to draw her people together, slips beside him, a wing running along his side, as soft as the petals that tumble from her mane. Amethyst eyes gleam at him as she passes, owl soft, “Come, I think we both need some peace tonight.” Her smile is bright, but it is only shimmering gauze across a black chasm of worry.
Florentine turns to the other girl of butterscotch and cream. The song from the girls lips beckon her down and her eyes flee from the music girl, for just a moment, to watch that the boy of pink comes to truly join them. “Don’t let us disturb you, you sing too well for that.” Dusk’s Emissary chimes to Maude as she too finds rest amidst the somnolent grasses.
@Maude @Jude aah what a cute gathering!
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
