ACROSS A WALTZING OCEAN OF LOBELIAS & VIOLETS, dear memories of a time long passed become white pollen and fluttering dandelion seeds ─── They blur into the sunlit sky, remodel themselves into the floating clouds only to ultimately dissipate into a melancholic nothingness ( how saddening, that the lamentable fate of these volatile blossoms is the same one forced ‘pon her own remembrances ) . Gaze is thus lost, directed towards a past that she can vividly recall only in her most intimate dreams ; there, during those few hours in which the entire world melts into the welcoming void, her visions become intertwined with the specters of all those days that she has already lived through. These wild flowers… Are they really the same ones that used to grow on the outskirts of the king’s castle, colorful blooms that no servant could have ever eradicated ?
Stream of consciousness is, however, abruptly interrupted. The faint noise of approaching footsteps piques her attention and the mage cruelly pushes back all those ichorous droplets that had threatened to spill from the cracks in her ribcage ; she turns, settles her eyes ‘pon the familiar saber and, as if no cloud ever tormented the skies of her heart, SHE SMILES. ❝ What if I offered you a flower for your thoughts ? ❞
STARTER CALL ! ♡ @chivalright .
GONE WERE THE DAYS OF KINGSHIP IN THE FIELDS OF BATTLE AND PEACE, replaced with a bloodied reality and a downfall of a country. She had failed ; King Arthur had failed. But it was a fate written in stone. One that was said to her from a time long ago. She remembers, well and truly, how rightly she believed in that vision of Merlin. Yet even as the air was familiar, Arturia was well aware that this was not the Merlin from her reality. They may be the same in essence, but still different in their own way. Her footsteps are heavy — weighed down by the armour she donned that clinked with every step, a subtle announcement of her presence. Verdant hues remain neutral as she eyes the mage carefully, noting the painfully familiar smile that was painted on roseate tiers.
“ You of all people should know that I do not require a trade for my thoughts, ” The King of Knights comes to a halt, standing a reasonable distance away from the magician. “ ...Not with you, anyway. ” Mindful of the truth, Arturia hesitantly utters out the admission in a whisper. As mischievous as Merlin was, there was still a level of trust between the two. THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING, and now a servant who had fulfilled her destiny. Soft words leave the king’s lips, as if already knowing the habits of her old friend, “ What about a flower for your thoughts, hm? ”
