in a lovely garden walking
two lovers went hand in hand;

"I was wrong," she says simply, but not softly. The words do not feel like a nail in her coffin; ropes she hadn't known that tethered her to the ground, to the past, fray and are cut one by one. Each syllable is a prayer, is an unleashing.

She lets the ropes fall like dandelion heads in children's hands.

Lighter and lighter, Moira almost feels as though she could fly. But of course, those lessons never came and she is grounded beside the man of love and anger and roiling emotions that make him just as human as she is. And perhaps that is why she was so afraid.

To be a Tonnerre is to be cold, to be untouchable. They wore their silver and lightning, they smiled with shark-toothed grins and dead eyes. Only the barbs upon her skin and carefully constructed towers and gates kept her afloat, kept her a part of them when they would seek to tear her down and shred her into a pile of ribbons. Red is such a lovely color to watch fall, drip down, down, down until all life bleeds from the skin and only a corpse remains. She would know, she'd seen it happen after so many unlucky births. She'd seen others who went out alone and broke something or another (something vital, important, worth more than words and insults) come back only to leave them once again.

Her armor was her unwavering devotion to self and career.

It shattered when he made his way through it, shot hole after hole through her and tied her moons to his sun. Forever made to orbit one another, but not quite touch. "I was a coward and you called me out on it, your ire was earned, but I'm glad you are here with me. I know why you love her because I love her the same... Different, but the same." She smiles to him then, sweet and soft and sad as though a thousand truths have broken her down and let something else (something hardier and wiser) blossom in their gaps. Even cement jungles have breathtaking views. Where cracks open, something magical rises up to fill those gaps until she is whole once more.

A thoughtful look at what's ahead (who is ahead) and then over to Eik has her humming. There is a light in her voice, electricity running along her skin (along her spine) until she speaks again. Like floodgates crumbling, words leak out steady and slow. "They told me there was no room in their heart..." how her voice wavers, like the sparrow's song. Trilling up and down, a cadence of music and magic and mystery. "Don't worry, I'm not giving up so easily." With that, she winks, and steps forward into the flow of bodies.

in a lovely garden walking
two lovers went hand in hand;

"It is a lucky thing, to be loved,” she mourns aloud, letting the sorrow show, letting her heartache bleed louder. Eik is never far from crimson thoughts, staining the pages red with dreams and smiles and anger. Even their petty argument, her stubborn ways, could not shatter the bridges built between them, the crops of friendship so carefully sowed. For that she is grateful, and kind eyes smile through the clouds of thoughts and pensive circulations. "I do not envy you, nor her, but love you both the same. You show warmth where I’ve seen coldness blossom and bloom growing up. Ice crystals hang as chandeliers of Tonnerre souls and only the loveliest carvers could ever win the heart of one.” She sighs as she remembers marriages for duty, not for love. Anselme was lucky in his being a favorite child, even if his own was an abomination of genetic muddling. "We do not marry for desire nor love nor passion, there is careful calculation and duty and an ever raging war for power and ambitions that far exceed some ranks. It is an unspoken stain upon all our skin, but still it sits there like mud on white cloth: impossible to miss.

”Thank you, Eik, for loving her and being loved.” Dark lips press to pale cheek, gratitude and depthless levels of adoration, love, friendship and trust lapping at each other, begging to let him see, let him know. For the phoenix would never have let herself burn as she does now without having met a pale man in the midst of insomnia and adventures. Warm eyes follow his own as they withdraw, turn inward to think. What is it he thinks so deeply of when withholding the splendor of himself from the world?

Silence is thick and heavy between them, but when he is ready and looks to her once more, solemnity a vow upon his tongue, sobriety a collar about his throat, grave as death itself, she listens. Ears tip forward, head tilts as Neerja’s might when observing someone who is not friend, but prey and terribly interesting.

Like that his words are there and gone, and they are walking again as a blush rises to her cheeks. "Denocte is not a place that wears fear well; Isra’s love unites us into something more than we are. I had very little to do with it - without me, things would have continued marching forward beside Time. My presence and absence does not affect the court so greatly.” Soft is her admission, for she feels like she could to more, should do more.

When is the last time she’d gone to the pier and talked with the sailors coming in to sell their wares and offer up fish? When last did she dance through the markets or sulk through the libraries? Too long has she been absent, and it is a heavy stone upon her shoulders. "I would die for Isra, just as any would of our court.”

in a lovely garden walking
two lovers went hand in hand;
Breaths they both held, tension they both felt, bleeds out of the world on a wisp of smoke, painting the sky with relief and smiles when they begin to bond once more. She felt his absence sorely, dearly, truly, in the very depths of her heart. Eik is a diary, a confidant, a dear friend even though they’ve met so few times. To the phoenix, it feels a lifetime of memories are shared between the two.

His smile is brief, but bright and welcome. Sun breaks through clouds of her mind, and she remembers that he is from Solterra and there is more in the world than Denocte. Than the house that has become a home and the people that have become family.

There is more than Isra and Asterion and Caine and Sera and Eik.

There is more.

The more comes in the dark, forceful tones of Eik’s voice. So very few times does he use such harshness, such intensity. Ears curl back into dark hair, short hair. But she listens.

Dark lips that could be an old scab purse, and then, "I would not lie to you though - not in the past, and not now. What I know to be true and what I think to be true may change and my perspective may grow or shrink with my world, but I will not lie to you, Eik.”

Honesty is, perhaps, one of the phoenix’ worst and best features. In times of peril, she reassures and lets all know the truth. In times when one seeks reassurance or a pure opinion to compliment and uplift the spirits, words become glass shards that can glide along skin or pierce tender flesh until hearts ache and tears well.

After a small sigh, she continues gently. "Some days, I wish I were born beside her, but our unicorn has her own heartaches aplenty and skeletons that haunt her. We all have chains about our throats with memories weighing them down.”

It is not so easy a thing to love people who give their heart to the world because they so often would let their life be put at risk - Isra is like that at times. And I will put her well-being before my own. Don’t you do the same? I see no difference save for the sexual nature of things,” at that, a small chuckle and knowing look is passed on to her companion before golden eyes stray again. He is distant and mournful, but the artery in his neck pulses more quickly, sweat not from island-heat beads clear and bright and bold. Nerves are shown in the way dark, beautiful eyes dart to and fro just as his tongue darts over dark lips. She reaches out, brushing his shoulder with her own: an act of solidarity and comfort. "I know the woman whom he loved and who loved him more fiercely than the sea loves water and the clouds the sky. I know he was of my court. I know when flowers ate his corpse, when Raum struck him down, my heart bled for all of Denocte and Isra and the soldier who died and can never be forgotten. If we’ve sat together for longer than a moment, a meeting, I remember so little of it. But I know of his name, of his lover who grieves him, and of a nation that will always remember how he gave everything.”

What more could she say of the brave soul that haunts so many now? How ashamed she is that she’d left early, believed that Isra would be fine! As her Emissary she should have talked more with others at the festival, been aware of who and what was happening. Maids’ gossip should not have been the thing to warn the conflagration of a woman that her heart had been stolen and a citizen of her home slain right under their noses! It hurts, it aches, but not as much as seeing Bexley so near madness and tears did.

It’s hard to swallow, but at last the lump in her throat goes down enough to spew out final words, soft words, midnight-smoke words in that husky voice of hers. "Do you think I could ever be that brave? I feel so selfish lately for wanting another, for letting myself act on those basic needs. One day, perhaps, I will be as brave as Acton - as brave as a lion.”

Her companion, her beating heart, they are an amalgamation of emotions she is still learning to process, to digest, to understand and echo in her own mannerisms. With all the attention of a saint, all the focus of a priest leading their flock to greener pastures, to water, to the holy lands, Moira Tonnerre, a daughter of the great Tonnerre house, a phoenix in her own right, a flaming banner of hope and pillar of Denocte, leans in to listen in hopes of understanding. ”Hasn’t there been enough of that?” Eik asks plainly, softly.

His words are the ghosts that haunt them all, grave and low and sad. But she cannot answer in a way he wishes, cannot give him the reassuring words he seeks. “Death is a natural part of life and runs its course. We all die, Eik. Some die to give others life. Some sacrifice themselves in great or poor taste. So many will not be remembered - they are nameless, only a face to lurk in the darkest shadows at night; others you will hold dear and will drive you mad to lose them. Death comes for us all, but we choose how great an impact we have on others before we die. We choose our futures.” And the earnesty! It is brimming with the need to be true, a hope that her own future is not lost, that her own dreams will not be dashed against the shores or reality at the foot of cliffs with rocks like daggers to shred them apart. Winged girl cannot look at him then, not with the prospect of losing it all.

She wonders if this is even a fraction of what Bexley felt - feels - when Acton died. When word reached her, did she try to shred the world? Is that why storms rose and the sun shivered, shying away to let the lands grow cold? Is that why the stars screamed down around them and waters churned, angry and hungry for blood? Did they feel the rage and loss of a woman in gold, a woman in love?

The thought could break her if she dwells, so she does not. Later, there would be a time for reflection when she’s pressed neatly into the side of a striped beast that loves her more than life itself. When their jungle hearts sing together once more, dance side by side, beat as one, only then can she fall into a void of remembrance and reflection where caesuras do not interrupt nor hinder her thoughts. Then, things will flow and she would be free to feel everything so deeply as though for the first time.

But not now.
Not now.

“What could you owe the dead, Eik? They are not here to haunt you, to pull you apart at the seams. Do not bear their sins upon your skin and write them into your heart. Remember them as they deserve, do not drown because they did.” If they stopped, she would kiss his brow and hug him tight. She would force him to hold on to life, to be selfish for himself, for Isra, but they move steadily over the land bridge, destination unknown.

The phoenix strength stems from the sun child’s, burrowing into the folds of his and pulling out the precious little bits she needs. Moira would have made the walk alone, but she is forever grateful that today she need not succumb to such hardships, let alone with her thoughts that seek to devour. They are always so starving for her flesh.

He hums words. It seems Eik always asks this, yet it is a question she does not mind. There is always a next. Chapters end and the book goes on, so too do their lives. Her own answer is sweet and sad, soft as a lamb freshly dried. “We don’t let them die in vain, we live. And next,” she pauses, thoughtful. A beach is almost before them, the curving of an island full of strange things is far up ahead. “We learn why we are here - in life, in our hearts, on this island… Sometimes, the journey is the most exciting part of the adventure.” Moira lets his magic wash over her, his warmth, his awe, his faith in her. It could have made her cry if tears were not so readily dried - too many shed in the past months for so many souls lost and found. But she is thankful all the same, and she smiles that secret smile, that soft smile, the one she’d given him when they’d first met and she was so green to Novus and its inhabitants. Then, she wonders, if she knew what she did now, would she have done something different?

No
her heart whispers quietly, smiling at Eik and pushing the feelings towards him, letting him into her obsidian shield so that he might glean something from that he’d so freely offered before.

---

“speech” | @Eik | I love it too, so much ! I'm good stopping or going <3