CYRENE
she left pieces of herself,
in everything she used to love.
The wax-sealed envelope had arrived in the night like a heaven-sent harbinger. Its origins remained a mystery—it had simply been there when Cyrene woke, where it had not been before. How the discerning-eared nymph had failed to be roused by its placing, was a troubling thought she would entertain later—the imposing letter begged to be opened. Gingerly, she pried open the imperial seal like it was a yapping dog waiting to snap off her fingers for dinner.
Brisk, direct. Cyrene traced the curving calligraphy over and over again, in hopes of gleaning something more from within its stark letters. Yet the smooth black ink dared not bleed even a hair’s breadth from its inception upon the creamy parchment, and staunchly revealed nothing more. A tremor of nerves snaked through the girl’s slender frame as she folded the summons back into its gilded wrappings, the solemn seal restored to its duty of guarding flowering secrets from prying eyes.
Surely she had not caused so much trouble, as to attract the attention of the Sovereign herself? Many moons had waxed and waned since her breathless arrival to the shores of Terrastella. Unsurprisingly, though, Cyrene had not stayed confined to the lavender skies of Dusk. Upon swift hooves, she had graced each court she journeyed to with starling eyes and ebullient smiles. Every one—save for the scorching sands of Solterra.
Eyes of burning, carnal aurum bloomed like butter yellow magnolias in her mind. She wiped them away quickly; yet gold lingered still in the autumn girl’s fevered palms. I wonder... how he is. Despite the airs she put off like perfume, her time in the other kingdoms was not spent in foolish cajolery—no, secrets and rambling gossip had slipped, purring, into her soft lap. Studiously, Cyrene had pieced together the scraps until a picture of the strained (and that was putting it too lightly) affairs formed hazy and blemished. Simply put, Solterra was not a place for sun-blessed reunions. Would it ever be?
Still, she had not bothered too much over such stifling politics—instead, she had settled happily as a caretaker among the ranks of Terrastella’s revered healers. Which brought Cyrene back to her current predicament—what had the Queen seen in a common healer like herself? I shall not hope for the best, she sighed. Cursed she would always be to flub potions and singe feathers. Mamá is probably creasing her brow at me as I speak.
Puzzled as she was, the spritely nymph waved her worries away. Florentine was hailed as the Golden Queen—just, kind, merciful. The pride of Terrastella. And as her citizen, Cyrene delighted to at last meet her amethyst crowned ruler. So when the sun dragged itself lazily across the flaming horizon, the bright-eyed caretaker set off on swift hooves towards the ivory citadel. Before Dusk had settled cozily into her lavender throne, Cyrene's featherlight steps echoed along the winding path that ushered her through the keep's kaleidoscope gardens. The flowering scents filled her lungs, and draped her pelt in swathes of pastel finery. "Florentine rules over a kingdom of beauty," she murmured, as soft as silken petals.
@Florentine
ack this took me some time to put up ^^; but I'm so excited ♡
she left pieces of herself,
in everything she used to love.
The wax-sealed envelope had arrived in the night like a heaven-sent harbinger. Its origins remained a mystery—it had simply been there when Cyrene woke, where it had not been before. How the discerning-eared nymph had failed to be roused by its placing, was a troubling thought she would entertain later—the imposing letter begged to be opened. Gingerly, she pried open the imperial seal like it was a yapping dog waiting to snap off her fingers for dinner.
Caretaker Cyrene Ioannou —
Your presence has been requested by Her Majesty Florentine for Dusk this evening, within the glass awning of the Royal Gardens.
Brisk, direct. Cyrene traced the curving calligraphy over and over again, in hopes of gleaning something more from within its stark letters. Yet the smooth black ink dared not bleed even a hair’s breadth from its inception upon the creamy parchment, and staunchly revealed nothing more. A tremor of nerves snaked through the girl’s slender frame as she folded the summons back into its gilded wrappings, the solemn seal restored to its duty of guarding flowering secrets from prying eyes.
Surely she had not caused so much trouble, as to attract the attention of the Sovereign herself? Many moons had waxed and waned since her breathless arrival to the shores of Terrastella. Unsurprisingly, though, Cyrene had not stayed confined to the lavender skies of Dusk. Upon swift hooves, she had graced each court she journeyed to with starling eyes and ebullient smiles. Every one—save for the scorching sands of Solterra.
Eyes of burning, carnal aurum bloomed like butter yellow magnolias in her mind. She wiped them away quickly; yet gold lingered still in the autumn girl’s fevered palms. I wonder... how he is. Despite the airs she put off like perfume, her time in the other kingdoms was not spent in foolish cajolery—no, secrets and rambling gossip had slipped, purring, into her soft lap. Studiously, Cyrene had pieced together the scraps until a picture of the strained (and that was putting it too lightly) affairs formed hazy and blemished. Simply put, Solterra was not a place for sun-blessed reunions. Would it ever be?
Still, she had not bothered too much over such stifling politics—instead, she had settled happily as a caretaker among the ranks of Terrastella’s revered healers. Which brought Cyrene back to her current predicament—what had the Queen seen in a common healer like herself? I shall not hope for the best, she sighed. Cursed she would always be to flub potions and singe feathers. Mamá is probably creasing her brow at me as I speak.
Puzzled as she was, the spritely nymph waved her worries away. Florentine was hailed as the Golden Queen—just, kind, merciful. The pride of Terrastella. And as her citizen, Cyrene delighted to at last meet her amethyst crowned ruler. So when the sun dragged itself lazily across the flaming horizon, the bright-eyed caretaker set off on swift hooves towards the ivory citadel. Before Dusk had settled cozily into her lavender throne, Cyrene's featherlight steps echoed along the winding path that ushered her through the keep's kaleidoscope gardens. The flowering scents filled her lungs, and draped her pelt in swathes of pastel finery. "Florentine rules over a kingdom of beauty," she murmured, as soft as silken petals.
@
ack this took me some time to put up ^^; but I'm so excited ♡
