[P] suns fled and ten million moons fled after them;

[Florentine]

i'm a pretty flower girl
check out my pretty flower curls

Love. Her little daughter wonders about that word. It toys over and over in her mind and it is not far from Florentine’s mind also.
 
If Aster had thought to ask just what love is, Florentine might have told her. yet what need was there when the girl muses softly. She falls silent, her giggles fading like butterfly wings in the air. All around them is silent and sweet.
 
There is nothing but magic, sweet and strong. It is like honey upon Florentine’s tongue. So close Florentine is to telling her daughter that the world should not be like this – so still so frozen. But the words do not come and her lips continue to busy themselves with gliding like silk over the soft of her child’s skin.
 
This is not how the world should be. She imagines whispering into Aster’s ear. The world moves, Aster. It is not just us who move. But, “Time is a powerful magic.” She breathes instead, like it is a secret. And maybe it is, for a child who knows nothing about magic or time or existence’s mysterious ways. “One day you will know what that means.” The girl sighs and she looks into the brush and into the bushes for lavender eyes that are so full of knowing. Future eyes. Florentine has spent each day looking for those eyes since the foals came. That is what she does, move to the future, warn her past self of things that are to come or things that should not come to pass… But there has been nothing, nothing at all. There is not future Florentine to guide her present self.
 
And maybe that merely means that all is well within the future? Maybe she has nothing to concern herself with? Already Aster is talking again, distracting her mother with words of time travel and belonging. The lack of amethyst eyes already behind her, Florentine smiles wide and brilliant. Such children she has made! So like her, so like Lysander. “I hope so, Aster.” Florentine murmurs. “There is no world that can contain you.” Then into Aster’s ear she whispers soft and wild as magic, “Our blood is made to travel Time and bring worlds kneeling beneath our fingertips.”
 
As Aster’s golden gaze lifts to Florentine’s, she holds it, tight as an embrace. Already her daughter knows of love, even if she does not feel it. “Wherever your brother is, is home, Aster.” And that is a command for her daughter to abide by.


@Aster

florentine
rocking your pretty flower world