The festival is so far away.
All that is between the two girls now is snow and wind. The wind drives clouds in and they arrive at Aislinn’s bidding. Her fury is their masterpiece and they darken in shades Florentine could never imagine. Their wrath is in their shadows that crawl across the cliff top. Far, far below the sea also pushes in, crashing and breaking against unyielding rock; the unending waters claw and claw and claw.
They have been here before, Florentine and Aislinn.
It was a night so like this. Darkness shrouded them, deep and dark and impenetrable. Their grief was a bitter taste upon the wind. But there is something new, this time.
There is an anger they share and it seethes like fire. It scolds its way through their veins and lights those black clouds red, red, red. The Dusk girl’s heart is a wild tattoo within her chest, it beats out a rhythm she has never known before. It races, ragged and broken, knees bruised and shins cut, but it keeps on running. Her ribs ache as the night slips on, drawing their shared anger out like blood from a wound.
This night will bring them the catharsis they so desire. It leaves cold-bitten kisses of snow upon their skin. It wets their lashes with snowflakes and pinches their cheeks with the frigid winter chill. Alive! It demands of them and the girl of gold and grief obeys with wide, wide eyes. She awakens beneath the demanding touch of this cold night.
The girls are gold and ink, lavish art laid out to paint the surroundings. They have no dragons to haunt the skies and guard their treasures. They have no treasures to guard, they have given them all away; to each other, to their kingdoms. They give and give and give, but there is one who takes and takes and takes.
Look at me. And who is Florentine to disobey? Her eyes lift to let amethyst be lit by fierce, fierce blue. Aislinn holds her there and the Dusk girl listens until she is full of vows and promises. Until her nerves begin to sing with fevered desire to do differently. She nods gently, a promise without words, but filled with the richness of gold; the wealth of this night is beyond measure.
Oh Florentine drinks in her night sister. She swallows the stars, the shadows, the electricity that sparks along their skin where they touch. A small smile curls Florentine’s lips, even as Aislinn peels away, to let her wings unfurl and feathers cup the winds like a thousand sails. The storm singer stands before the Dusk queen, beautiful and fierce and righteous in her anger. Storm clouds reach down for their gypsy, down through snow and wind. Flora watches them, a fleck of gold far, far below their blackening menace.
Slender limbs draw Flora back too, though her mane still reaches for Aislinn, empowered by the winds. Petals ride the unseen air, made visible only by the blizzard. “Then I trust you.” And it feels good to trust again.
“Go Aislinn. We will meet again.” And the winds begin to howl, calling their gypsy away. Then she turns and only the sound of the waves can be heard as the Dusk queen returns to her citadel.
@Aislinn - eeee <3 <3
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
