The day was new, the sun had risen and so had she; the Dusk girl lost in the throes of their ways had a heart that pushed and pulled like the cliff tides against its rocky walls. Little had changed there in the home of Vespera and her followers' lives, all save one child who belonged not just to her anymore. The child, but a babe in the confines of a fate that seemed to throw her in a direction all its own, became a torn thing between two forces that could never best the other; they in their grandeur and influence over those of their own kind had taken her heart and broken it into pieces, and the daughter of Dusk and winter wolves was unsure if she could ever mend what had been damaged.
With wayward thoughts about the one she trusted most and had grown quite close to, the painted proclaimed-queen brushed against the arms of the tower walls as she waded about them. Stairs and hallways and doors were passed by for something more finite; she knew where she wanted to go, where she would find the girl that often claimed her dreams in the midst of night, and it was there her star-studded marks would soon be visible had the door been left ajar. It was not the nook of books that she would end, but the single room of the flowered girl.
She approached the entrance, whether opened or closed, with trepidation masked by false-confidence. "Florentine." The solitary name rung against the stone surrounding her and hung like a nail driven into a wall. All sense of softness had left the curves of her voice, and that strong-strung accent was the pull of a tooth.
Outside in the summer heat, a storm brewed as it waited for the chance to let its lightning strike them both.
With wayward thoughts about the one she trusted most and had grown quite close to, the painted proclaimed-queen brushed against the arms of the tower walls as she waded about them. Stairs and hallways and doors were passed by for something more finite; she knew where she wanted to go, where she would find the girl that often claimed her dreams in the midst of night, and it was there her star-studded marks would soon be visible had the door been left ajar. It was not the nook of books that she would end, but the single room of the flowered girl.
She approached the entrance, whether opened or closed, with trepidation masked by false-confidence. "Florentine." The solitary name rung against the stone surrounding her and hung like a nail driven into a wall. All sense of softness had left the curves of her voice, and that strong-strung accent was the pull of a tooth.
Outside in the summer heat, a storm brewed as it waited for the chance to let its lightning strike them both.
I was hangin' next to you by a thread from so high
We were heaven and the moon In the center of my eye
We were heaven and the moon In the center of my eye
for @
let the revealing begin c;
