It was a night for broken hearts. Florentine should have known from the moment she first heard that lullaby hum. Down the cliffs it rolled and out, out across the waves. It slipped through grasses, still wet and fresh from the storm now passed. Maybe it was no surprise that the Night Court’s stormsinger should be the source of such a lullaby… for her heart ached like the flower girl’s did.
The ache birthed a restless so acute, since the parting of the storm, that it brought the flower girl down from her Dusk-lit tower. Out into the cool, cool night she stepped with yearning the only gown of sleep she wore.
It was the cliffs that beckoned her and upon them she roamed, walking the fine edge between the grasses and their steep drop down, down to the sea and sand below. Caramel wings flared beside her, for balance and whimsy - oh to fall, to fly…
On and on Florentine walks, her eyes so upon her feet that she does not see the girl of storms and song descend like a black swan from the skies. It is only when her melody comes, a painful aching thing of longing and beauty, that Florentine looks up.
There Aislinn is, a dark shadow upon the damp, damp earth with her neck extended to watch the distant seas glimmer like slick, silver shadow in the night. It is this sadness that whispers-whispers and lures the Dusk girl in for her own heart beats with the familiar pain of being torn…
Had Flora known it was the same boy (a creature of stars and revelry) that made their twin hearts ache, then maybe she would have been more hesitant as she steps towards this supine girl. Even her lavender petals seem to know what awaits her as they slip from her tangled mane and flee back, back towards the comfort of the keep, her room, his letter.
Did they know the words to the lullaby?
Slender limbs, honey and gold, fold beneath her twilight body as she sinks into storm-wet grass beside this beautiful stranger. Oh it is cool here, it is fresh, and the flower girl relishes it as she lets her eyes follow the stranger’s out to sea. It is a sight she has seen before, many, many times and for a moment she wonders what this girl sees through her lightning eyes. Is it the same? Is it different? Are the cliffs any less beautiful?
Florentine hopes not.
The smell of night is upon Aislinn Stormsinger; the lingering scent of jasmine that ties Florentine’s tongue and makes her borrowed heart flutter, flutter (for how could it still be her own when he had so surely taken it from her in that midnight temple?).
“That is a beautiful melody.” Florentine sighs as her eyes drift out along the stranger’s spine. “You must be from the Night Court, for none sing so often, nor as beautifully, as they.” She notes to one day ask Reichenbach to sing to her, if ever things should be so easy for them.
Gold dust lashes lower to fan her cheeks, to hide her amethyst eyes as she takes a deeper breath of smoke and lavender, of sea salt and lavender. “Are you well? Are you here simply to rest? I can get you a healer if you so wish.” Her lips reach to drift through the girl’s white-black mane; smooth as spun silk. It is a caress, a comfort for them both, to ease this terrible sorrow she feels rippling from this girl’s slender body.
@Aislinn Let's do thisss -hides under a rock-
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
