Her eyes close, gold-dusted lashes fanning against her cheek, for she cannot bear to see that look in the storm girl’s eyes. There is such loathing there, such desperate sadness that Florentine cannot help but shy away.
Her muzzle draws in, her crown dipping to better free her fringe. Obediently the golden threads of tangled flowers and spun silk, fall forwards to cover her eyes, her face. It is a veil she wishes was as thick as stone and as tall as the moon. But alas it is not, and through the gold and the lavender, when her eyes open again, she still sees the agony etched upon the Night girl’s face.
What a terrible thing it is, Flora thinks now, to love her Night King. As she waits she dreads. The twilight girl dreads what accusations may fall like thunder from this storm-girl’s lips. Florentine does not want to weather this storm, her mind, her heart, her soul, flees back to the warm comfort of her bed and blankets. Oh to have just been able to stay there this night - to have been blessed by sleep enough to never have met Aislinn this night.
He told me he was in love with you.
Those words split the flower girl in two. All at once her body is the light of dawn and the terrible unending black of a storm ravaged night. They are words to end the terrible, poison of Bexley’s bite: He will never be able to love you.
The Day girl’s words had feasted upon her skin, her soul, her heart. They were a poison lancing through her veins and oh, it is only at its passing that the flower girl realizes just how sick such words had made her.
That initial ray of sunshine, like the light of dawn, is dogged by shadow and a terrible storm that rains Aislinn’s tears and strikes lightning as sharp as the resentment in her storm-grey eyes.
“I am sorry…” Florentine breathes, as her wide, wide eyes take in the Night Court Champion.
Aislinn’s eyes are a wild fire burning each piece of golden skin they touch. For a moment, for a childish, insecure moment, Florentine fears to know just what the Night girl sees when she looks at her. And as her own eyes sweep over the fierce storm singer, Flora wonders what exactly Reichenbach saw in her that he did not in Aislinn. This stormsinger is fierce and wild and beautiful. She is a force that cannot be tamed…
“I didn’t know-“ he loved me, are the words she cannot bring herself to say. She thinks of his letter upon her windowsill and his words hidden away within the folded leaf of paper. There was no confession of love – or was there? She blinks slowly at the older girl, suddenly feeling so young again, so ill-versed in the words, the gestures, the meaning of what it is to love and be loved.
She takes a step closer to Aislinn. “We didn’t plan for this.” Her eyes race out to the sea, “In Verenor I told him we couldn’t be together…” And yet they were spiraling ever closer, two magnets unable to resist the draw to be together and leaving broken hearts in their journey towards each other. Despite all of that, the most painful realization was, that for all Aislinn’s tears, Florentine still ached to find Reichenbach.
I am sorry. The words are ghosts upon her lips, she begs to speak them again and again until she is hoarse, but all that comes are tears; those of sorrow and those of relief.
Bexley’s words are gone.
@Aislinn <3 <3
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
