Florentine smiles, but there is no joy upon her lips. There is no light to brighten her eyes and glitter in the depths of her amethyst gaze. The smile the fae-queen wears is small and sad. It is a bitter taste to any who dare taste it and it poisons Flora.
“Then why does it feel like I am not entitled the to the safekeeping of my own heart?” She sighs the question, weary, despite her young years. Never had she felt more old than now. Never brought so low as to muddy her knees in the dirt of her troubles.
Florentine watches the older mare. She studies that vermillion gaze with eyes so wide. A hope blossoms in her breast, it twines itself through her stomach like roots and begins to bud flowers of hope.
The fae-girl is not disappointed. When Israfel’s counsel comes, spoken in words blunt and open, they are measured and practical. There is something of Florentine’s mother in this woman – whether it be the fire, whether it be the warrior’s mind, one that spoke truth and did not fear the repercussions. “You are right.” Florentine breathes. “I plan to call our court together and I will tell others of what has transpired but, for now, I am unsure myself just what to do beyond today.” Ah, that confession is whispered in a small, small voice. It is a voice that flutters butterfly-fragile in the space between the queen and her spirited Warden. It presses those delicate wings against Israfel before it is gone, lost to the past and the silence of the fire-warrior’s room.
Israfel has only wise words for them and Florentine heeds them all. “But,” She considers lightly, “Can I let merely Reichenbach get away with his transgressions? To let him launch an unprovoked attack upon an innocent citizen of Dusk and let him use his magic on me and do nothing is foolishness, surely? He has wronged us and to do nothing is to invite him to think he can again.”
And Florentine is moving, she is pacing and fretful. Anger, hurt and betrayal sear themselves through her body, culling nerves and setting her golden skin ablaze. “I do not necessarily talk of war, I have seen the ruins of that with my own eyes. But to do nothing? I cannot do that, I will not. I love Terrastella and its citizens too much to allow a foreign king to think he can abuse us in such a manner. This is not about love, it is about Terrastella.”
When those eyes lift, they are imploring and searching. Oh the flower girl needs counsel, she needs guidance from a woman that has lived more years than her.
Florentine lets her eyes roam over fire-licked eyes and skin that glows as white-hot as the sun in Solterra’s sky. What would do, Israfel, were you in my position? And there is no judgment in such a thought, the flower-girl not filled with challenge or anger. No, they are curious and defeated, weary and sorrowful. She does not expect an answer and so turns to the door.
"I shall hold a meeting soon." She says softly and then, before shutting the door she murmurs softly, "Have a good day, Israfel." And with that the flower-girl is gone.
@Israfel
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
