REICHENBACH'S BAE
Tonight was a night of stars and revelry. It was a night to say goodbye to old regrets, but for Florentine, no sooner had she absolved herself, than new regrets were laying heavy upon her heart.
She had looked to her gypsy boy, as she stepped into their small circle. Intimacy had crept upon her like a thief in the night. But oh, it was not theirs. In those moments of silence, where time ticks without a voice, she sees too much, and too little. The snow still fell, the lamps still ascended into the midnight sky and the antlered boy still stood behind her… but it was all lost. This wild girl’s eyes were only full of white and gold dragons and boys dressed in stars and shadows.
Twilight bonds with night, but it is not hers; Florentine’s has no space here.
It is only when she spoke, with a small voice, with a fluttering heart, borne upon a thousand feathers, that her king saw her. Then he looked and looked and looked. She was not enough for that gaze, for that guilt that pulled her apart with its callous hands. Florentine shies away from the press of that gaze, her musical limbs restless. They are full of the same fateful disquiet that had brought her to his coronation dance.
How wonderful that inter court relations are so close, The amethyst of her gaze snags upon Lysander and the girl’s lungs are too, too tight. His words have squeezed them so. They are the pinch she needs: that terrible realization that no, this was not some dream to awaken from. Ah, this was reality, this was Aislinn upon the cliff with her tattered heart. This was Bexley’s incredulous laugh.
The smile upon Flora’s gilded lips is gone and she does not know where. Did she discard it like the mask it was? Did it dissolve beneath the King of Thieves’ guilt-laden gaze? It does not matter, for where her sorrow and guilt once were, now Reichenbach’s fury seethes. Flora’s ears fall to her poll and feel so unnatural there. The Night King has turned his night stormy and his words rend her sorrow as lightning might the sky.
She watches smiles turn sharp and callous; they are ugly things when not painted in desire. The dusk girl cannot stand to look at them, not the one upon her lover’s lips, not the one upon Isorath’s. Instead, when the lost queen speaks, she looks to the Night King’s eyes and prays for a tether; she cannot freefall within that star-strewn gaze this night. “Reichenbach, how dare you.” Her words are the softness of petals caught in the swirl of a wild wind.
Florentine becomes that wild wind, her heart unpredictable, her dagger warm. She was not made to be still and she has been still too long. The snow swirls, pulling at the mane of its wild girl.
“You cannot make accusations of Lysander when I saw the way you looked at my Regent.” Those words are poison upon her lips and she turns her head from her Night King and on to her Regent. Isorath’s musical laugh still swirls between them and his words are its dancers, soft and graceful with their dismissal. Florentine wonders what the Night King makes of such a deft deflection.
“Dragon’s do love their gold.” A smile finds her lips and it is soft where his is sharp. Florentine’s eyes are the bright of amethyst where his are subtle lilac, her petals soft where his scales are smooth. “Be careful of the few who might pull you from your duties, Isorath.” Her smile does not waver, it is the bruise of dusk lit with many colours and glittering with the first and brightest star. It will not succumb to night so easily.
The Dusk girl looks to Lysander and feels a child once again in his eyes. Is that what he sees in her now? Is she still just the rebellious child of the Winter Court leader? A child trying to be a queen.
She looks back to her boy of shadows and stars. Oh, the crying ache of her limbs that long to carry her to him. Oh, the hurt of her heart, fearful of the guilt she saw in Reichenbach’s eyes.
Florentine does not go to him, instead she stands, like a deer, lost between Isorath’s casual dismissal, Reichenbach’s anger and guilt, and Lysander’s discerning gaze. Shame creeps like weeds upon her; was this a game, and did she know how to play it?
@Lysander @Reichenbach @Isorath
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
