#aph france imagine

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

can you write something about france, lavender, and rain?

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The hardwood was chilly beneath you.

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The greyed sunlight tried desperately to caress you, seeking an opening through each crevice, gently pressing against your arched back.

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The windows were misted, your forehead resting against the glass as weary eyes traced patterns in the soil beyond, squinted as you glanced up into the horizon swirling in smoke and abalone.

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The rain is good, you ventured. The rain brings life to the gardens, gives life and hope to all the creatures sharing the same sky.

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But after one of the wettest years on record, with no end to this warmth in sight, you were growing mildly restless.

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You missed the snow.

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You missed winter.

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You missed the flashes of red as cardinals darted from hibernating apple trees to resting lilac brush, missed the frantic darting of russet as the foxes would playfully snicker around the hedgerow.

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The rain had been ceaseless this year, and while part of you was eased by the soft shades it painted the world in, it was growing tedious again.

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Just one day of snow.

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Was that too much to ask?

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Voices carried to you from downstairs, weaving joy and warm thoughts into the quiet of the library. Much like the fading sunlight, they tried to find their way into your spirit, raise you from your self-inflicted despondence. But they fell short, left with nothing to escort save the dust bunnies lazily swirling in evanescent sunbeams.

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Footsteps soon followed, one voice carrying above the others as he sought you out, each breath, each call, each plea growing frantic, dread and concern carrying to you from the gilded halls.

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You left your eyes to drift shut, resting your head against the window pane.

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You were so tired.

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“Chere?”

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His voice alone was enough to warm you, enough to stir you slightly away from your doldrums and bring your focus back to the present. The soft intonation lingered like a lullaby in your ear, gentle as a kiss and sweeter than cranberries.

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You hummed a response, summoning all possible effort to raise your eyelids, tracing your focus across his worried features.

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“Chere-”

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The soft plea again, the purest form of devotion. His fingers hovered across your cheeks, found sanctuary behind your ear, thumb wiping softly beneath your eye.

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“Why are you crying?”

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The moisture wasn’t entirely from the frigid condensation then, was it?

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“Cher-”

“I’ve missed you.”

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All of the words and hopes and dreams and unshakeable anguishes of the past hour disappated away into that one coherent truth, the numbness of your core lingering only in your extremities, banished by his grounding warmth, his patient devotion and love.

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There was a tentative smile, the gentle sweep of cornflower irises calling forth a flicker of yearning, of anticipation. He did not make you wait, the placid press of lips to your forehead summoning a smile, an assured jolt of life flickering through your veins.

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“I am home now, my love. I am entirely at your command.”

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You felt the spark of mischievousness, a smirk darting across your lips. “Careful, dear. A person could easily abuse that kind of power.”

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An upturn of his lips on your skin, and he slowly trailed kisses down to your neck, each breath and pause another wave of warmth, of life, of precious vitality weaving itself through your very soul.

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“How lucky I am then that I have you-”

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“After all-”

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“You are too merciful-”

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“Too kind-”

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“The epitome of compassion-”

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“I could trust you with the very stars and know you would do nothing save make them shine brighter in the joy of having known you.”

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The finality of his proclamation was set with a small press of lips to your temple, soft sighs settling into steady breaths to the gentle harmony of the endless rain.

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“Francis?”

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“Yes, my love?”

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It was a creeping, lingering, selfish desire. It was a craving and a temptation that should be ignored in light of the guests downstairs. But the cold was still desperately seeking solace in your bones, and you had yet not the strength to banish it.

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“A bubble bath?”

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The soft puff of air near your ear indicated a quiet scoff, one never meant to offend. “All the power in the world, and you ask me for a bath?”

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“Please?”

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“I’ve ruled empires, my love. And you-”

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You pushed away from him, enough to meet his playful gaze, take in the fondness of his expression. It was nothing more than banter, a lingering jestery that was rooted into his very being. But his eyes were sincerity, the amiable blue depths of summer.

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“Would you prefer lavender or roses?”

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“Ro-”

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You paused, eyes flickering outside once more. The thorny remnants of your rose bushes still climbed the white arbour, still clung to the iron fencing around the small garden. The roses had never left. But the lavender-

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“Lavender.” Your attention drifted back to his eyes, determination strong and decision set. “It reminds me of the night we met.”

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Another secretive smile flit across his lips. Carefully, he raised your hands, pressing yet another kiss to your fingers. “Thy will be done.”

Dot a dot dot droo.

-•-•-•-•-•-

Descriptors for rain sounds stolen from Weather by Eve Merriam. Been raining at my house and overall the dreariness has been settling far too much into my own bones. Hope you enjoyed the repetitive use of onomatopoeias.

[allanimeimagines]

[just-a-pile-of-flag-trash-blog]

Over the years, Francis has fallen in love with many humans. His happiness is short lived though because their lifespans seem like only a few years to him.

[allanimeimagines]