She heard the voice, muffled beyond wood. Her eyes blink slowly drawing back from where her was gaze focused upon the dawn. The door swung inward and for a moment the flower girl hesitated upon the threshold. It was not her to be so hesitant, to be so careful. But the festival had changed so much. She was changed.
Her heart was a drum hard against her breastbone and, as she stood in the doorway, her petals falling like tears from her hair, she wonders if Israfel can hear its tremulous beating.
Every word that passes the warrior girl’s lips is a welcome. There is no part of Israfel that is not so, but as Florentine slowly steps into the lady’s chambers, she feels the tension drawn tight across her skin. She aches, she aches so terribly much.
Is everything well? Flora’s eyes close for protection against such a simple question. Oh her wings long to stretch and throw her from the window, spreading wide to catch the wind. She would fly into the dawn and never be found again. But she couldn’t, not when a boy bled because of the fallout of her love and a jealous Night King. In her mind, in the darkness there she still sees his blood upon her skin and it is as if it were her own the day she died a child’s death. Her soul is trembling, trembling and the girl’s breath is clawing up her throat.
She could lie. She could claim all was well. Florentine was not a girl accustomed to lying, but, even long gone, the Night King’s magic is still a phantom festering in her heart. It still has a spectral weight upon her tongue. The truth, the truth, the truth it demands and her veins grow hot with anger and sorrow. Where was the boy she had grown to love? She did not know. He was through her fingers the moment he turned to love another and lost the moment he hypnotized her. She told him a truth then, that not even she understood. Oh terrible weaving fates.
You look tired. The world disappears behind Flora’s closed eyes. Ah such blissful black! But the girl does not linger there, she forces her eyes to open and drink in the reality that is her Court and those she sought to protect. “Thank you, Israfel.” The Dusk girl breathes, petal soft and utterly ragged. “I have come to ask if you will be my Warden?” And then there is silence.
It is a big silence that sits even heavier upon Florentine’s spine. No, no, she was not meant to be a queen and even now the girl desires to flee. She is changed, this girl. She was born to be with others, to seek adventure but now, now she seeks to run, to hide to find solitude. Oh just for a moment, to throw that imaginary crown from her head and find Rannveig again - to feel her comfort once more.
Florentine waits, her eyes upon the dawn, until they sweep back in to glance at Israfel. Then she holds her compatriot’s gaze and sighs softly to her fitful soul. Don’t run, don’t run.
@Israfel - eep wasn't quite expecting Flora to be so broken. I think Reich's hypnosis upset her more than I thought it would >.<
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
