REICHENBACH'S BAE
The winds moan with the coming winter. Its breath becomes heavy with cold and the promise of sleet. The chilled ache of joints creak against the impending snow. Upon the peak of the mountain, surrounded and enclosed by carved stone, Florentine listens to the push and pull of seasons as one begins to wax as the other begins to wane.
Yet here, Vespera’s altar holds the honey girl so riveted she does not hear the changeable weather. She does not hear the way the seasons drift by, nor the clip of feet upon the cold, cold stone.
She had been a frightened bird here once; a creature primed for flight with wings unfurled and a fly-away heart tethered only by a tenuous string of fraying gossamer. This day, however, sees the girl much quieter now. The temple listens to her rambling prayers and whisper them back to her from its lonely, darkened corners.
Above those whispering echoes and the sigh of passing winds, the flower girl does not hear the Daybreak boy until he is beside her with words strong enough to drown her repeating prayers.
Startled by him, his voice, his presence, Florentine peers up through honeyed hair and golden lashes to settle upon the gold of his septum ring and then onwards, up and up and up as though he were the mountain they had just scaled. Time seems to slow as she looks to him, her gaze broken only by a sheepish blink.
“Oh,” Florentine sighs with all the disappointment of a child and none of the assurance of a queen.. “Was that not praying?” Her gaze returns to Vespera’s altar, as if it may reveal to its unworthy worshipper just how she was supposed to give thanks.
The flower girl opens her mouth to ask of this Delumine boy (for how could she miss the scent of sun and woodlands and wilderness?) exactly how she was supposed to pray, but her lips are closed by his whisper. Such a confession draws a relieved huff from the flower girl. “Me either!” Florentine declares with a smile more relieved than it could ever be wicked. “I mean, I know the names of the gods…” And she does, for she sweeps a golden wing along each altar assigning it to its associated god. “But their names and their territories in Novus is all I know of them…”
Petals fall to the ground as even the whispering corners of the temple fall to silence at her words. Yet, never one to be too perturbed the young Dusk sovereign takes a step towards the stranger, her voice lowering into a conspiratorial whisper, “I am not even sure I believe in them… Do you?”
@Eros
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
