She watches the way his laches lower, the way he sighs and shudders, his ‘Oh’ only the softest utterance. Florentine barely hears it above the rustle of the trees, the flickering light, bold and wild before suddenly they are left in thriving dark. It is in the silence between lightning and rumbling roar of thunder that she sees the absence of magic.
She steps towards him, magnetic, curious, eyes so wide, so wide. “You know of the absence of magic…” Eagerness ripples through her soft, soft voice for magic, weak but wild, clings to his skin. Oh she thinks she can smell feral magic there a wayward stream running. Yet his is like none she has ever known and her head tilts, feline curious.
Eyes glitter-gleam in the sky’s flashing light, even as they stand in the shadows within this emerald temple of trees and vaulted branches. The flower girl is close, close, smelling him, smelling his air, feeling the prickle of wild magic teeth upon her skin. She takes a breath, deep and shuddering, as if she can pull those final tendrils from his skin and lay them within the col metal of her dagger. But she is not so selfish, no matter how her wayward heart yearns.
“You had magic once.” She leaves the words between them as she turns from him, to the darkening meadow, so wildly swaying. “I miss mine. Your magic reminds me of someone I used to know…” Twilight muses as she listens to the drip, drip, drip of falling water.
He talks on and now its not only his magic that pulls her back through worlds and stars but his words too. Memories pour like waterfalls through her mind, catching behind her eyes like glittering lights. “It was wild.” And a smile broad and keen curls its way along her lips. “So wild.”
How did you come to be in this one? And how long have you been here? More questions roll from his tongue, bolder now, more curious. But he has already set the girl upon the wings of memory and she is so high, her laugh is cloud soft. “I cut my way here.” The dagger lifts upon its delicate chain and for a moment, for the blink of an eye, sorrow reigns true upon the dusk girl’s face, “I was a time traveller.” Whimsical words for a whimsical title and it seems almost ludicrous here, in the place of slumbering magic.
“I don’t know how long I have been here. Time has already begun to mean nothing to me –“ Florentine pauses brows furrowing as that sorrow needles at her heart now, “Maybe if I never leave here, I will learn to measure it again.”
Eyes turn back to him, suddenly ancient suddenly so old, so knowing. “You are in Novus and I am Florentine.”
@Asterion
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
