He was not the only one who missed the absence of his magic. Florentine was the girl who roamed for days before she decided to enlist her magic blade to take her back to Rift. It was only then she felt the absence of her magic. Unlike this boy of stars and water, her magic had not lingered.
Jealousy twists her stomach for just a moment. It loosens as keenness becomes her and she smiles, lilac eyes blaze with yearning. “What magic did you have? Where did you come from?” She asks him with eager words that rush upon one another – too hasty, too hasty.
“I miss my magic.” Florentine sighs as they part and the cold seeps in, bringing a shiver with it. The lines of his face fascinate her, the way his body is at ease, even when his magic was shed as readily as a cloak. “Do you not miss yours?” It is a small question, asked by an even smaller voice. Flora is so suddenly young, so suddenly shyly curious. Womanhood is still a strange fit upon her skin, despite her heart has begun to know the weight of love.
Who does it remind you of?
“My father.” She breathes without a moment’s hesitancy. With a frown between her brows but a smile upon her lips the girl chirps lightly, “He is the most angsty creature… I did not know there were so many things to worry about in the world. But, apparently there are.”
His next question strips any light from her body and the girl falls still and silent. Contemplation turns her body to stone, her eyes lit only by the encroaching storm. “I do and I don’t with to leave here.” Florentine answers openly, honestly. “I yearn for my magic, for the freedom it gives me to roam. But I do not know that I can so easily leave here and never return…”
She becomes more animated, only as her eyes drift to his as she drinks him in, all water and wild, wild magic. “My father has a water ability – of sorts. He can control ice.” Then, with a frown, she muses lightly, “Nearly gave me frostbite once.”
The words fade, along with the rains, as the storm begins to drift by. Angry clouds ease and their shadowed cathedral of trees grows ever brighter. “Will you give me your name? Or else I should have to make one for you? I have done it before, you know... the results have been very mixed. It is a bit of a risk to let me pick.”
Florentine steps forward into the cool, damp meadow, “C’mon, Water Boy.”
@Asterion
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
