She is late. She is so late.
Florentine’s wings beat hard against the winds that rolled their way out toward the sea. Her amethyst eyes are riveted upon the horizon, and the Terrastellan lands that lie beyond.
The air is cool, chilled by the dark, dawn hours. It carries the scents of budding flowers and they are sweet, sweet upon her tongue. The flower girl longs to land, to explore plains that began to blossom in myriad hues. Fate calls like a bird; a whistle that flutters leaves and calls her limbs to dance.
The flower girl might have missed the antlered boy, were it not for that whistle that passed his ebony lips. Does he know of the curiosity that he makes run wild within the Dusk queen?
Caught in the compelling tines of intrigue, Flora pauses with a tip of her wings. Graceful as a lark she spins to face him. Awe has her eyes trailing his antlers as though they where the branches of an eternal oak tree.
No matter how long the girl looks at him, she feels no air of familiarity. Not even in the smile that curls his lips. It whispers for her to remember, but Florentine has been here too long, her memories fading with the days.
She remembers a man who made her dance, who turned her hums to song and sheltered in a cathedral of bones. But she does not see him now with his tattered antlers and lovely smile.
Slender feet land in the yielding, meadow mud. Through her thick lashes of sweeping gold, Florentine watches this boy. Her twilight eyes survey the bleeding bones of his antlers, the velvet that hangs in shreds from each tine. Had Florentine been paying attention to the ground before the boy called to her, then maybe she would have seen him scratching each brace upon a tree. As it was, she did not and so she chirps lightly, “You have twigs and leaves in your antlers, did you know?”
Her head tilts with avian curiosity. From beneath the golden hair and petals that fall forward, Flora continues to survey the boy and his sorrowful antlers. Her eyes trail the red that bleeds down exposed bone and into the tangle of his ebony hair. It sets dark intrigue creeping into the corners of her and lets dangerous warnings sing through her skin.
Florentine draws level with the stranger, moving past him in the direction of the Dusk Court. She ignores the dangerous temptation of this boy as it bites about her heart. “You might need to walk with me, I was on my way home and I am quite late. I shall be in trouble if I linger.”
It is everything she can do to keep her eyes fixed upon her path home. Yet an ear, rogue and insatiable, twists back to settle upon him. An image of this boy, bloodied and savage as he is, paints itself within her mind. Leaves and vines adorn him, his skin the colour of bark. This boy is an earthen creature with antlers arching like roots and standing as proud as any crown. An imp, a king, a god are the titles Florentine dare give him.
Would he do better as a king than she does as a queen?
Unbidden, her slender neck curves, her head tilting until one eye settles upon this feral boy. She cannot look away as intrigue sears her soul and fate creeps upon them. “What would you do if I gave you a crown?”
@Lysander - eeee let's do this
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
