JUST LIKE FIRE, BURNING OUT THE WAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR
JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS
COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN
BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY
With a soft, sweeping noise, the wings of the dark dove retract from their outspread position and back toward her sleek carcass. The setting sun illuminates her with reds, oranges, yellows that make her ebony hide much more colorful than it might normally be. She turns soft, velvet lips to preen the feathers of her left wing, returning them to their rightful place and removing those loose ones that no longer belong. She turns her crown then toward the sea and takes confident steps toward the edge of the cliff.
Standing on the edge she feels no fear of the drop. Perhaps that is just her own confidence in her flight. The sea is calm, still even as the tides change. Night is coming, and the sun is nearing the horizon. No one is around - at least within sight or hearing distance. How dull. She thought, still staring out at the sea. The dame turned east and began walking along the edge of the cliffs. Ah, Terrastella, the land of dusk. How poetic that that is when I choose to visit. She wondered that no one seemed to notice her flight over the land, no one had challenged her. What a sad ruler that had nothing to say about strangers traipsing all the way through!
But perhaps one will come still.. after all, she had just landed. Inkheart stomps the ground with a dark hoof, scattering dust around her. A toss of her long locks as she made herself a little more comfortable. Gold eyes peer back inland. She is interested in what might be going on in Terrastella these days, and is hoping that someone will take notice of her arrival.
“Look at you, coming in here, disturbing our dust.”
The words chime out beneath the star-flung skies of Terrastella. In the dusk light, shadowy and speckled, Florentine is bathed a deeper gold than she could ever hope to be. The orange of each wing tip catches the dust as it drifts from the ebony girls foot. Small twists of her wing and the dust is spinning, spinning.
The flower girl had been following the ebony stranger for some time. Stalking was an art she had honed as a foal and whilst it was near perfect, it was not, sadly, faultless. Maybe Inkheart had known there was a paler shadow marking her? Or maybe Florentine was just that good. Either way, stalking grew boring, and Florentine had a penchant for chatting.
She watches the dust thoughtfully, indulgently, before she allows Inkheart to steal her gaze. There is adoration in the way the shadows fall like a shawl over the stranger’s body. She melts, inky black into the liquid dark of the Dusk Court’s shadowy corners. The flower girl watches as the shadows grow bolder and the sky redder. The sun is slipping and falling into the sea but neither girl spares it a glance. Not even as darkness, the Night Court’s own indulgent bedfellow, descends to swallow the dying light.
Florentine does not miss the way the stranger’s eyes, wrought in gold and as hot as any sun, gaze inland. “Come to see us at our finest?” Florentine purrs, humour playing in the corner of her upturned lips. In the same way that the Night Court was perfect in darkness, the Day Court resplendent in daylight and the Dawn Court bold with its newborn light. So the Dusk Court was an ode to the bruised and bloody dying of the light.
“Like what you see?” Humour falls away to curiosity, for surely she was not the only one to have an insatiable appreciation for the other courts. Oh Florentine, never able to rest still; a wayward girl in love and geography.
Rich is the amethyst glow of Flora’s eyes as they sink into the gold Inkheart’s own. The Dusk girl’s gaze trickles, slipping along the sleek tattoo that pours and twines itself down the length of the stranger’s hind limb. Florentine’s exploration of the other girl comes to settle upon the orb of light blazing like a sun at her breast.
“No one will miss you coming with that.” She muses softly. She lets a wing extend into the cascading light, feathers splitting it into rays that dapple upon the dusty cliff face. By comparison, Flora’s flowers and their wayward petals are quite plain. But, never ones to be upstaged, the petals tumble and roll to tangle in the black of Inkheart’s mane and tail.
“So what brings you to the Dusk Court?” Flora asks at last, “Is it business, or mere snooping? I am quite partial to a bit of snooping now and again myself.”
JUST LIKE FIRE, BURNING OUT THE WAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR
JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS
COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN
BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY
She turns my gaze skyward as soft words float down to meet delicate, smooth lobes. A light, cream colored pegasus descends from the colorful sky, alighting not more than few strides away from the ebony and gold mare. Nares flare as she breathes in the floral perfume of the other dame. She stands still, locks lifting in a light breeze (thought weighted down by sheer volume), and listens for the remainder of the mare's speech - or intermittent speech. "Disturbing our dust." But dust is meant to be disturbed - disturbed and swept away to reveal the world beneath. Those that cherish the dust deserve to be swept away and buried with it.
"Come to see us at our finest?" Clearly referring to Inkheart's choice in time to visit. Of course she had not entirely planned to visit at that exact time of day; it had simply worked out the way. "Like what you see?" Crown tilts in thought but without answering. The mare knows where her home is, where her heart and soul belong. The land of Terrastella does not call to her and beckon the way Solterra does. Nothing ever will, and she is more than certain of that.
Amethyst orbs meet gold and they hold for a moment, silently weighing the other, trying to see beneath the surface. "Eyes are the window to the soul" they say. But that is assuming no curtains or tints to obscure the view. And oh the shade held as a barrier can be so great. The flowery lass looks over Inkheart's form and markings, noticing the gold upon the Friesian's chest that she has learned clearly marks her as one of Solis's disciples. Finally she speaks. "I do not intend to hide."
She has never intended to hide. Instead she is the warrior disciple, the prophet and proselytizer coming to bring everyone worthy into the fold. And they will be brought into the fold, or be banished. (Up to you to decide what 'banished' means.) A thoughtful expression dances across the mare's delicate face. As she takes a step toward the local (presumably, by her words), the cream and orange tinted lass lifts a feathered appendage and petals fall upon ebony and gold locks. They stick there, catching upon the strands of hair and settling, waiting to be shaken loose.
But she doesn't shake them loose. No, the petals don't seem to faze her, as she continues to examine the local pegasus. The young lass is much more talkative than Inkheart, and her youthful appearance puts her not much but perhaps a little younger than Ink. "No, I am not here on business." Well, sort of. She supposes that her desire to gather information was a sort of.. business. Her own personal business. "I am here to learn more of Terrastella. I assume you are a local." There is condescension that colors the end of that statement, that floats in her gaze. But only careful observers could possibly catch it. It is mild, without the full force of superiority that Ink carries with her. "I want to know about your... beliefs, your religion, who rules you."
She has not met the ruler of Solterra yet, but she knows that sovereigns have been established. Word travels fast in Novus, and her time wandering here had told her how to listen for such whispering. She has come to learn about the land and its people - to know. Because knowledge... is power.
@Florentine (pardon me experimenting with the font!)
A part of the golden girl relaxes when the stranger confirms that she has not come for business talks. Flora was never one for business, it was boring, and if the persistently ‘angsty’ look upon her father’s face (when he was king) was anything to go by, then the girl would forever steer clear of politics. Whilst being a princess had its fair share of perks, there was an awful lot of tedium and required decorum. Some she was happy with but it didn’t half get in the way of adventures.
Her thoughts drift to a boy she had stumbled across in the low light of dawn. He longed to be a scholar. Poor sausage, little did he know.
Flora returns her gaze from the hazy Terrastella landscape and fixes it upon the casual interloper. “That is a relief. I am no good at business and know even less about the Dawn Court than I do about the stars in the sky.” A wing extends, up and up to point at the low light of the blinking stars.
Inkheart ploughs on with talks of religion and beliefs and… “Ah!” Florentine exclaims her cool smile just about dampening the inner leap of excitement she had about being able to answer a question at last.
“Rannveig is our monarch,” Florentine relays knowingly. “She is really quite pretty, very driven and inclined to some quite rousing speeches.” The young girl pauses, her head tilting and her flowers fluttering in the evening breeze. “It seems I knew more than I thought.” Her lips curve into an impish smile and she peers back to Inkheart.
“I know gravely little about my Court and you seem to be nosey enough to know a bit about all the others. So how about this: I could take you on a tour and exploration of Terrastella and you can tell me what you know about the other Courts?” If Inkheart had taken offence at being called nosey, then maybe she would have taken comfort in the fact that Flora’s smile remains sweet and her eyes bright. There was no insult intended, for Flora would be the first one to call herself nosey and would even go so far as to view it as a good trait to be in possession of…
Slender limbs begin to carry the flower girl forwards and she peers back at Inkheart curiously. “Will you join me, Firefly?” Her eyes drop to settle upon that warm glow radiating from the other girl’s ebony chest. “I am Florentine, by the way. But you can call me Flora.” Then, without missing a beat, “Now, tell me, you mentioned religions – I presume there are gods too then? Is there just one, or more…? Are they nice or rude? Who is the best, in your opinion? -” And long will the questions continue, unless Inkheart decides to stop their flow…
JUST LIKE FIRE, BURNING OUT THE WAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR
JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS
COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN
BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY
Disappointment clouds her expression momentarily as the young floral lass says how little she knows of her own realm. What use is it to question her if the tart is clueless?! But despite her misgivings that have just surfaced, Inkheart stays put, waiting to hear what else will be said. Her momentary patience is rewarded with new information, however small.
Rannvieg. The way the girl described her made her sound like quite the capable leader. Though obviously unproven, for sovereigns had only just come in to power, her courage and charisma placed her in a position of strength. She is similarly what Inkheart might hope to be if she were ever sovereign. But this is not her time, and not her place. Though the ebony mare might be inclined to lead if given the opportunity (or if she chose to take the opportunity), she has other things to do in the meantime.
The flower child reveals herself to be called Florentine, or Flora. She calls the dark one "Firefly" and glances at the mark of Solis. A firefly might be an innocent creature but Inkheart is not. That being said, it was a nickname that would disguise her more mischievous nature. Her nares flare as she exhales a sigh. The chattiness of this Flora is tedious, but there are bits of information that she provides, or that may be gleaned. Inkheart was called nosy, and she snorts in short reply. It was a backhanded compliment. Inkheart is interested in gathering knowledge but does not like the connotations of the word "nosy." Not like she has much of a choice in the matter.
Midnight appendages stretch and refold as she settles in for what may be quite a long journey, if not in distance then in time filled by stories. She will not turn down insider information, however. Silent steps follow Flora, and as she brings up the Gods, Inkheart feels herself rise to meet the pedestal that is raised before her. Indeed this is her moment of glory, to shine -- to proselytize! A fierce but joyful expression lights her face then, lobes perked and crown elevated, alert!
Her voice is regal, but silken - rich though feminine. "There are four Gods: Tempus, the God of Time who created this land; Oriens, the God of the Rising Sun - the Dawn; Solis, the God of the Sun - the Day; Vespera, the Goddess of the Setting Sun - the Dusk; and finally, Caligo, the Goddess of the Night. These four deities rule over our lands. And I, I am Inkheart." She nodded in Flora's direction when she mentioned Vespera, but was obviously more excited when she mentioned Solis. She wishes that she had met the Gods, or at least Solis, but when it comes to answering what they are like, Inkheart has no answer. For the next one, however....
"Solis the greatest of all the Gods. It is by his glory that we and the life around us may grow and bloom. The sun that he makes shine bright is the giver of life, in combination with the water from the rain that combine to bring the light of rainbows to our skies." She briefly continues, describing the glory of the sun, the day, and a world of hope and happiness. The whole time her pride is evident on her face, orbs glowing with the fury of her belief. Her long plume held high, neck arched, and her wings even begin to spread them in her excitement.
Feathers, dusk orange and honey gold, thoughtfully trail through the crowns of the tall grasses. Florentine ignores the glances of disappointment that the black girl casts her way. Flora was not, nor had ever been, one for politics or the ways of a court.
Flora was lost in thought, lost in listening to the sea, the sky, the winds, but there was no missing Inkheart as she began to swell with joy. Amethyst meets black as the flower girl’s gaze is drawn in to Inkheart; a moth to a flame.
This dawn girl is fierce and wild with her love of her god, Solis. She preaches, enthusiastic, her voice as bright with vigor as the sun she loves so. Flora’s honey lashes lower and lift, idly blinking as her eyes take in the splendor of the black woman.
A moment of silence extends itself lazily between the girls when Inkheart at last falls silent. The air rustles, just with the soft lowering of the dawn girl’s wings. In this silence Florentine ruminates, she turns over and considers every sentence and point that Inkheart raised.
She opens her mouth to speak and the silence pulls itself tight. Her mouth closes when no words come and the silence shudders, as if it knows what blasphemy is about to pour like poisoned wine from the girl’s lips. “But Time has no god.” Flora says gently, slowly.
“Just like the day, the night, the dusk and the dawn also need no gods.” Florentine’s eyes lift up to the skies and then down to the gilded dagger that lies silently upon her breast. “All are controlled by Time, and wild magic…” Her thoughts drift back to Rift, to her homeland, to lands that changed upon Time’s mere whim.
“I was born in a place where there were no gods, just Time and its wild magic. Lands would change: a graveyard desert, a clockwork forest, a lightning plane of metal and perpetual night... They changed so many times I could not keep count. Time worked there and it had no need for gods to try and harness it.” Her eyes, serious and deep, deep purple, shift back to Inkheart, reticent for how her words would be received. “Time and the passing of days should only be at the behest of Time itself. I was given the gift of time-travel.” She lifted her gilded dagger for the other girl to see. “This dagger would tear windows between any time and existence. I have met gods before… in different worlds. But I see gods as only keepers, their ability to control a time of day, is only that, an ability – magic.” Her heart stutters, sad, anxious for these gods that have harnessed a time to call their own.
Florentine is not sure when she stopped walking, but her gaze is held by the setting sun. Her heart flutters in her chest, a fear of blasphemy, a fear that her non-belief would have her sentenced. “I love Time too much to see it controlled by others.” Sadness twinges in her voice for she feels so far from it now, unable to flit between worlds as easily as blinking. She preferred it wild, uncontrolled, at its own mercy, with its own wild magic.
Her wings flare as she leaps into the air, desperate to shed the quagmire of thoughts that begin to pull her down. She needs the sun, the air, the infinity of the skies through which to fly. Her eyes lower to Inkheart, the girl who blazes with the sun’s light. “By all means, enlighten me.”
@Inkheart – ooph, if some of her reasoning does not make sense, forgive me. (Also, some of her misunderstanding is intentionally there.) I know she does not believe in gods as I am trying to keep her true to her history and she started on another game where time and magic ran wild and there were no gods. I have just been working out exactly what she believes – which is a little hard xD. She is open to conversion though, if Inkheart can convince her of the worth of gods ;) (and clear up her understanding of what the Novus ones are/what they do).
JUST LIKE FIRE, BURNING OUT THE WAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR
JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS
COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN
BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY
Speechless- that's how her tribute has left the flowery mare. At least, at first. A soft, pleased smile slips onto the charcoal lips. The silence doesn't bother her; she bathes in the glow of her own pronouncement. Of course, she isn't expecting the reply that comes. At first the blasphemous words that spill from the flowered lips leave the gold and ebony mare shocked and descending toward outrage. Her nares flare and her soft golden eyes harden and narrow. Her lips press tightly together as she prepares to lash out - but Florentine continues speaking, and she manages to keep silent and allow the other to finish.
As Florentine continues to speak, however, some of Inkheart's outrage faded. (Some.) Nares still flared, but her cold, hard look melted a little. Was it the fae's fault that she was brought up in a different world, with different beliefs? It was strange that it wasn't the existence of deities in general that Florentine disavowed. It was that these particular gods could control time. For a moment, it made her bright mind pause. A pause where she considered the possibility that it might not be that way, should not be that way. After all, she had never met any of the gods of Novus. Who was she to say that THIS was the way, the only way?
But her faith, her zealous nature cannot not be stopped, for it is like a wave on the sea, moving ever forward even when it crashes on the beach - more will always come. And her belief will always keep coming back for more. A toss of her head and a snort of disbelief as Florentine rises above her. This - this is a worthy opponent of the mind. It's intelligent, lofty, insightful. Although they lie on opposite sides of the chasm, she's happy to walk this path with Florentine, to bridge the chasm between the two of them.
The task to enlighten her though? She seems so convinced it might be a lot to persuade her otherwise. "Time has no god, and yet you possess a dagger that let you move through it?" It was a pointed question, to point out that if Time was a magic that could not be controlled then how could Florentine possibly have any control of herself moving through it? "It's understandable if you don't believe at first - you have different experiences. At first it was strange to me too, for I am not originally from Novus." She concedes this - not all can be born with the faith, especially those not from here. "But I learned of the Gods of Novus and began to understand the narrative."
She pauses, realizing that her next statement is perhaps admitting a little too much. "I do not know everything of the Gods, for I am a mere mortal. But considering you are living in their land, wouldn't it be a good idea that you might consider it?" It's a gentler approach than she might normally take, but the thoughtfulness that she put into her response (and hint of regret for speaking it..) keeps her good-natured. Sometimes you win more with honey than with a stick.
WC: 529
Tag: @Florentine
OOC: better than I was expecting! lol
Wings rise and fall from where she hovers above the ground. The grasses sway and rise where her feet had stood amongst them but she makes no move to land again. Here, these scant three feet above the ground, Florentine feels more comfortable. She is protected in the air, even as the dagger turns to ice against her chest as the ebony girl points to it. Slowly, reluctantly yet determined, Flora lowers, slender limbs finding the earth with barely a whisper. She was not her normal carefree self. This was not a conversation that invited wild smiles and playful quips. No, this was religion and gods and the matter that helped their world to turn, to exist. The girl of honey and wild flowers cannot help but consider the very fibers that string the world together.
Her mind hurt and her heart wept.
It should not have been a conversation that weighed so heavily. Perhaps any other day it would not have been. But oh, her heart was still so raw at learning the loss of her dagger’s power.
“I only moved through time.” She corrects Inkheart softly, wincing and bleeding at her use of the past tense. “I did not control it because it was not mine to control. Besides, it would never have let me.” She trails off and her amethyst eyes, bright as a gems, turn to the sea. Her lashes are low, fanning her cheek, guarding herself from the confession on her tongue. She did manipulate Time, she did play its game to suit her, but only ever by its rules.
“I was no god to stop Time, or start it… To slow it down or speed it up…” She sighs softly, painfully, but finally drags her brilliant eyes from the sea and lets them sink into the black of Inkheart’s skin. “That was not the gift is gave me. As a bird flies upon the wind but cannot control it, so I was a bird travelling upon the winds of Time. It is how I have ended up here.”
The wind stirs again and carries the scent of lavender and rosemary from her flower-tangled mane. Her lungs drink the scent deep and the dusk girl wishes to wrap herself in the wild flowers forever, to bear thorns as her weapon and petals as her armour. But she cannot escape this conversation, no matter how much she wishes to hide from her disbelief.
She craves her godless land of birth but it is acknowledgement that has her eyes lifting to meet Inkheart’s. “I suppose I could consider it.” Her smile is a small little thing, only a lift at the corner of her mouth, but it is enough to convey her amused displeasure. “Where might I go to learn more about these gods?” With a humorous huff she smiles, “They wouldn’t smite a non-believer would they? Surely I cannot be the only one?” Her eyes drift out across the quiet lands, as if hoping to see a throng of nonbelievers appearing from every corner.
More relaxed, more settled, the ice of her dagger forgotten, for now, Florentine’s charcoal lips lift into a smile. She steps closer to Inkheart, enough to let a wing nudge the daylight girl, it is an invitation to educate for Florentine is so ignorant of Novus’ customs and religion. “So, tell me what you know of Vespera. It may be good to know at least a little before I seek out Terrstella’s goddess.”
JUST LIKE FIRE, BURNING OUT THE WAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR
JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS
COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN
BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY
The ink-stained belle watches the flowery girl with a steady but open gaze. It's clear the conversation has rocked the other's world, disturbing her pre-conceived notion of how the world works. But to be fair, it's put Inkheart's mind off balance as well, causing her to think much deeper than she has in quite a long time. Although Flora tries to correct her, the black maiden can't see the difference between the two truths. It takes a moment before the paler girl lands on the ground again. It seems to her like there's something more to the story of this time travel, and Ink would be lying to say she was neither curious nor desirous of this power herself. But this is all past tense - Florentine is no longer able to travel through time, to use her dagger to escape from one place, one moment to another.
The amethyst eventually come to meet the gold ones, and there's a moment of silence that is exchanged between the two of them. A moment heavy with the prodigious thought, where they are both forced to examine the great beyond with increased scrutiny. To Ink's great pleasure, Flora is openminded and willing to listen to the tales of other Gods and Goddesses. Relief passes across her visage. "Of course they would not smite you. Ask any who call themselves priests or sages - they are full of knowledge and may tell you more. Or ask the Gods themselves and perhaps they will grant you an audience." Though I haven't had much success with that myself.
An orange-tipped wing extends toward me and slides over my dark skin, eliciting a shiver in response. The inquiry about Vespera brings a frown across her maw, unbidden and unfortunately for Flora, unhidden. "Vespera is the Goddess of Dusk, the Setting Sun. She is rumored to lay the sun to rest with a sigh of her lips. She embraces the life that Solis brings and nurtures it, helping it grow." She sighs, and puts forth another effort to connect the reality that Florentine once knew with the reality that they both live in now. "Time existed before the Gods and Goddesses. But as they were created, they grew into these duties, responsibilities, so that they are now ONE, WHOLE with the cycles of the sun and moon." Her nares flare as she sighs again, in exasperation with the thought that she can do no better to explain it.
It will be room for personal growth, to explore her relationship with Solis and to understand the ways of Novus, the Gods.... everything. It's a daunting task, to try to understand it all, to KNOW. But she will undertake it all the same.
WC: 452 | Tag: @Florentine | Notes: Struggleee. Also my brain ran out of juice after the first paragraph sooo if it seems disjointed that's why.
Florentine had never had to consider her belief of gods before. Having a faith had never been something expected of her. Until now.
The dusk girl looks from the wind swept clifftop, to the rustling grasses and up to the sky with its spattering of clouds. In all places - in the blue of the sky, in the ears of the grasses, the swell of the sea – she looks for Vespera’s hand. She waits for a glimmer of power, for the creep of magic pressing upon her spine. But there is nothing.
Nothing at all.
Maybe she cannot see? Maybe she does not look hard enough?
“Has anyone seen your gods?” She asks Inkheart absently as her eyes watch a bird soar. Flora had once seen a mechanical bird fly, the click and clack of its knife sharp wings were a beautiful and terrible thing to behold. It was a creature so removed from anything nature should be able to make and yet, to Flora, it was just another unique twist of magic and Time. “I would like to meet them. Maybe learn more, as you say.”
Florentine lets her dusky eyes drop to drink in the midnight back of Inkheart. “I would feel wrong walking into a temple when I do not believe in their power…” Her brow furrows, hidden beneath the thick tangle of her honeyed forelock. “I do believe in them for I have seen other gods before. So, I suppose they exist, but I do not like their control over something I think they have no right to control…”
Her words trail off and for a moment she wonders how small-minded she may be. How she has shrunk a world of possibility into something small and impossible, just because she struggled to grasp a concept.
But no. No.
She could not open herself to such thought, Time was a wild thing and should be left as such.
And yet…
Inkheart’s words echo back to her: They are now ONE, WHOLE with the cycles of the sun and moon. They clutch at Florentine’s gut, at her heart and stop her soul from its flight.
Could anyone join Time so completely? To be so at one with it that you cannot tell where one being and entity ends and the other begins… It was a beautiful thing to think, but oh, even as she does, her heart beats green. Envy. That unwelcome little demon slips through her veins and for a moment she is jealous of the ability to be so at one with Time… Maybe she resents it only because she so yearns to have her own power back…
It is a longing so powerful that there are days when the dagger weighs so heavily about her throat she has nearly cast it into the sea. Her heart beats in trepidation that one day she might, that grief and frustration would overwhelm her so and she would break, parting with her dagger forever.
Her lashes shutter closed, fanning against her cheek as she removes herself from her thoughts – if only for a moment.
When those amethyst eyes open and find the light at Inkheart’s breast, Florentine’s smile is restored. “I have met a sage once.” Flora says conversationally, “He was rude and dull.” Her lips purse, before a wicked smile creeps across her lips. She leans in towards her fellow woman to add, “I swear he smelt musty too.”
The wind chases away her mischievous words. “I suppose I might tolerate his presence again to know his thoughts on gods and theology… Unless you could direct me to one that you know?” She is hopeful, for she is not sure her pride could withstand Charlemagne yet. There is only so much a romantically aspiring woman could take of male rejection in one go…
@Inkheart
this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
★ She is clothed with strength and dignity,
and she laughs without fear of the future ★
07-27-2017, 01:50 PM - This post was last modified: 07-27-2017, 01:50 PM by Florentine
