[AW] if winter had the courage

[Florentine]

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

They lean into each other and Florentine turns her face to him, into his warmth, the smell of woodland and sunrise. She longs to step into her friend, wear the cocoon of their embrace like armour to protect her from the agonies of being back. She did not think there would be so many. 


The snow falls and Florentine listens to him speak, listens to how the words echo inside him and without. His body vibrates with his voice, a low muffle that reaches out reverberates into her too. She hears his words, she feels them too, not just in her heart but her skin, her bones where they touch.


Though they are close now, she still feels the years in which they were apart. They are like vast galaxies, even to this girl to whom time is nothing at all. She can go anywhere, any place, any time. Yet sometimes it was better to live in her present place, to feel the pain and the joys of living. She stands in this moment and feels his pain, drinks it like water, then she bathes in the joy of their reunion. When she rises, she knows she will be stronger. Ipomoea has always made her stronger. 


They do not need to say how much they have missed each other. Florentine is not even sure she knows words enough to express it. But the way she tips her gaze up to his, lays a kiss against his cheek is all they need, the quiet, the companionship. Here, beside him, it is almost as if she has never been away. Almost.


He tells her of the island, the many metamorphoses it has had. Her amethyst eyes close, purple as a bruise. She imagines it, even as mirrors lie to her of other worlds, places where she is reunited with her children. Flora wonders what sights her children have seen, were they here too, when the island was a field of galaxies? She turns to him, the question is upon her tongue, Did you see my children here then? But she does not get the words out before he speaks. She swallows them down and listens to him and smiles. Sad that this is not her moment yet charmed by his wonder.


“Oh Po.” She whispers softly. “Do you want to know? I can take you.” She looks down to the mirrors, looks and looks for a world where his wings are not at his ankles but atop his shoulders, broad and great. “I can take you there.” She points to the one where he is, different and yet so utterly him. She passes worlds where he is beside two girls, she swallows and pauses at it and wonders if that is his future, his present or his past. Yet she looks up to him instead and says, “Or i could simply take you to the spaces in between worlds.” And she lifts her dagger, holding it out to him. “Our last adventure.” She breathes, because she knows it is.



@Ipomoea

florentine
rocking your pretty flower world