She is tired from her outburst and tired from pushing through thick snow. Florentine stops for a moment to catch her breath and cannot escape the ghost of his lips still tingling on her muzzle.
Her hurt feels like ash in her mouth. It had burned hot and fierce, but it was flash-fast and now, only the soot remains. Adulthood, in these moments, still felt a world away from the twilight girl.
“I am sorry.” The breeze tries to freeze the words as they fall from her lips and they come out heavier, repentance making them as delicate as ice..
Flora does not feel the wandering of his gaze, where it looks upon her curves and wings and eyes. Instead, she is gazing out at the whitening landscape, as grasses fall beneath the new blanket of snow. “I did say marriage was for love and I was also right; I have seen a broken heart.” She still feels Aislinn’s tears upon her lips. “Has your heart ever been broken, Lysander? I was not scared then,” and she means when she once told him of love with her whole and innocent child’s heart. “But I am now.”
She is serious, her lashes glittering ice into the sky, as she looks to Lysander and does not look away. She thinks she might look to him until time, at last, falls still.
Florentine takes a breath, like the turning of a page on to a new chapter, “And you said when I was older, if I still chose, you would gladly marry me.” There is a smile on her lips, one that plays with him, mocks him and charms them both with its brilliance. It asks nothing of this other-world boy. “You also said if I knew you better I would not have said I will marry you.” In gold, her limbs step her closer to him, back to the place where their breaths mingle, and there, Flora tips her chin up to better gaze at him from beneath her fringe. A huff through hot, satin lips and her hair lifts, fans and resettles. An amethyst eye gazes more clearly upon him and narrows with mock suspicion. “What should I be afraid of? Are there broken hearts because of you?” But her mockery falls short, her smile falling away from her lips like water. Her lashes become heavier, falling down over her darkened eyes. “There are because of me,” words whisper their way to him as the Dusk Queen turns to look out across the unblemished snow.
Bexley, Aislinn, Reichenbach. They all drift through her mind and her heart stutters and stumbles and clenches tight upon the last because, oh Reichenbach! How could she, even in jest, be stood here talking to a boy about marriage when her heart belongs to another? The air is gone from her lungs remorse gripping her tight. Guilt has her eyes widening, “I have a boyfriend.” The confession is blurted, and more duly follows, “He’s a king. Lives next door.”
She cannot look at Lysander, so awkward is her heart.
Was there hurt in his voice, when he asked if he was so dreadfully common? Her gaze sweeps from the plain, back to him. She sees his blood in the snow, the curve of his throat as he scratches his hip with a sharp, fatiguing tine. “You have never been common, Lysander.” Flora says, chastened. His charm, and her regret, have melted her ire like butter in the sun. “You are different enough that I did not recognize you, so yes. But…” Florentine pauses, her eyes finding his when his itch is sated, “No boy with antlers could ever be described as common.”
There is a breath, a moment where the twilight girl watches him, drinks in all the ways in which he is different and the multitude in which he is just the same. If anyone has changed, in any way that matters, she thinks it may be her. “You left me short changed the last time we met.” Amethist eyes, full of faux displeasure, settle upon him. “You did not warn me about the trial and tribulations of growing up…” They have changed her and Florentine does not yet know whether it is for the better.
Laughter, surprised and earnest bubbles from her lips as he thinks of how she came to wear a crown. “No, of course not battle, I have only ever fought twice, the first time I died and the second, I got this when my brother kicked me in the face.” The tip of a wing sweeps up to point to a thin scar, barely discernable but clear once an eye knew what to see. “It was not charm either, I am sorry to disappoint... I was merely given it when the former queen abdicated. I think they have received a rather poor substitute.” There should be a smile there, self-deprecating and playful, but it is gone and a whisper comes instead, soft and plaintive. “I am made for adventures, Flower Boy.” Not Courts and courtiers…
She sighs softly, and looks to home. “We are about to have a festival. If you want to meet my people, then come dance with us.”
@Lysander
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
