Code:
M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
She approaches, as soft as any snowfall, as bright as a bonfire in the midst of night, and as content as one could be while standing alongside Asterion. The man who is in every way but personality her opposite offers her a chance to see artists outside of Denocte at work, a sparkling world hers for the taking. Moira has never been rather greedy for much in her life, save the chance to prove her worth within her family. But art... The thought of paintings and drawings and murals, of sculptures and ballets and song, it all fills her with so much yearning that she can almost feel the way her heart breaks at the possibility of missing the event. So she'd agreed to come, and now finds herself at the entryway to the Festival in awe of the man before her.
Deftly he builds crowns for any who wish, weaving stems and petals together, it's as though he was born for this - and perhaps Ipomoea was. The crown upon his own head tilts in the wind, but stands eternal. There is a happiness radiating from him, a shyness now as Moira waits in line, observing how he stumbles when Messalina receives her own diadem of carnations and baby's breath.
Before the phoenix is ready, she presents herself to Ipomoea with a rather shy, baffled smile. Mo knows little of flowers except for those that look lovely on the dining room halls and which are meant for hallway tables and entryways, others that should mark the occasion of a wedding, and even more those that are brought to funerals. But she does not wear them. She wears ties in her hair and bangles about her ankle with matching chains bearing the sun and moon and stars woven throughout her wings. With a furtive glance toward Asterion, Moira leans forward to whisper to the painted man, wishing so much to paint him. "Will you find something you think he'd like on me please?"
@Ipomoea @Asterion weee I hope it's okay I dragged Asterion through here !
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
She approaches, as soft as any snowfall, as bright as a bonfire in the midst of night, and as content as one could be while standing alongside Asterion. The man who is in every way but personality her opposite offers her a chance to see artists outside of Denocte at work, a sparkling world hers for the taking. Moira has never been rather greedy for much in her life, save the chance to prove her worth within her family. But art... The thought of paintings and drawings and murals, of sculptures and ballets and song, it all fills her with so much yearning that she can almost feel the way her heart breaks at the possibility of missing the event. So she'd agreed to come, and now finds herself at the entryway to the Festival in awe of the man before her.
Deftly he builds crowns for any who wish, weaving stems and petals together, it's as though he was born for this - and perhaps Ipomoea was. The crown upon his own head tilts in the wind, but stands eternal. There is a happiness radiating from him, a shyness now as Moira waits in line, observing how he stumbles when Messalina receives her own diadem of carnations and baby's breath.
Before the phoenix is ready, she presents herself to Ipomoea with a rather shy, baffled smile. Mo knows little of flowers except for those that look lovely on the dining room halls and which are meant for hallway tables and entryways, others that should mark the occasion of a wedding, and even more those that are brought to funerals. But she does not wear them. She wears ties in her hair and bangles about her ankle with matching chains bearing the sun and moon and stars woven throughout her wings. With a furtive glance toward Asterion, Moira leans forward to whisper to the painted man, wishing so much to paint him. "Will you find something you think he'd like on me please?"
@Ipomoea @Asterion weee I hope it's okay I dragged Asterion through here !
