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+---- Thread: [P] a flame by another name (/showthread.php?tid=5245)
a flame by another name - Maeve - 07-19-2020
M A E V E
- ✦ -
I
've been watching the way the leaves have been changing and it's like some kind of magic. They've gone from green to varying shades of golds, oranges and reds. It reminds me of fire and it scares me a little. Will the leaves burn me if I touch them? Is it fire that makes them change their colors and fall to the ground? It all still seems like a kind of magic while I watch it happen around me. I haven't gotten too close to one yet, just in case it might burn me. I can't shake the curiosity though. It's all too interesting that I can't resist. I slowly get closer, one cautious step at a time.
When I look around to take it all in, the forest is pretty, and I like the way it smells. It's nothing like fire but a kind of damp earth sort of smell that blends with the dampness of the lake. It's a funny but good smell, so I don't mind it. My heart catches in my throat as I get closer and I see more leaves falling from the branches. They don't set the ground on fire when they land, so it must be okay, right?
So when I do finally stand close to a tree trunk, I look alllll the way up until my eyes burn a little from the bright sunlight above me. This tree doesn't have many of its leaves left, so it's very bare. It has all orange leaves, so the color that most resembles fire. I take a big gulp as I see one leaf start to fall down towards my face.
I need to face my fear eventually, probably.
But not today.
I jump and start walking backwards, but I don't take my eyes off of the leaf as it falls. Of course, silly me doesn't realize that someone is behind me, so I end up running into them.
"Ooof!" I shout, although I guess it's more of a squeak. When I turn around, I breathe a loud sigh of relief when I see it's not Momma Morr. Still, I feel really bad for bumping into her. I recognize her as the woman Momma can't stand, although I can't figure out why. She's pretty and looks nice. Then again, Momma seems to get mad at just about everyone, so maybe that's not a good way to judge people.
When I remember this though, I realize she might be mad at me because she hates Momma, so I look up at her with wide eyes. "I'm so sorry, miss Moira! I-I really didn't mean to…" I look down at the ground then, feeling completely ashamed. I hope she won't be too upset and will forgive my foolishness. I don't even know how to explain what I was doing either, so I hope she hadn't seen too much of it.
she listens to wind secrets
and echoes of distant star songs
RE: a flame by another name - Moira - 07-19-2020
I WILL ALWAYS WAIT FOR YOU
where the falling stars live
where the falling stars live
A
round her, the world is crisp and sharp, a medley of oranges and reds, of the peeling colors on her skin painted in nature. Or perhaps she stole the flame of her breast from the leaves in Denocte before she ever knew that this was to be her home. The Pegasus cannot say, she cannot tell you where her fire originated, just like she cannot tell you where the maples stole their own hue. But it is lovely.
The world is lovely and bright.
Not often is she awake during the day, much more likely to be found wondering the halls in the hours following morning, in the hours before dusk sets in, in the hours of the night when her court comes alive. She loves it, how she loves it and hates it. Every street holds a memory: just there, she walked hip to hip with Asterion through the snow; on that corner, she went towards the sea with Michael; over there, Moira saw Isra for the first time to answer Caligo's call so long ago. Oh, how time seems to fly and the phoenix does not know how many times she has been reborn. Once, a baptism of life when she came doe-eyed and dumb. Once, when she met Caine and he promised and promised her he'd teach her to fly, leaving her a crane that she still has, still hides, still hopes with. Once, when she met Isra and became Denocte's Emissary. Once, when they all left. When all of them left... Once, when she learned she could be okay, that she is okay.
Neerja felt all of it, knew the hum of it in her own wild heart, felt the cosmic repercussions when the phoenix shattered the earth, shattered her heart. The tigress was there for almost all of it, always just waiting to find her winged, flaming cub.
Now, Moira is awake again during the day. Neerja is off to the side, a silent sentinel keeping watch, keeping her safe. The phoenix' heart is a fragile thing, something easily spun into new shapes, new hopes, but just as easily plunged into abysmal despair. So she guards her cub now, a lioness ready to do battle, a dragon spewing smoke before the flame.
Moira does not mind her guardian, looks fondly at the flash of pale fur, blue eyes, the predatory gleam hungering for the jungles, for a run that the phoenix has denied her too long. Since her stay in the monastery, Neerja has not been in the wilds. Caged. Trapped. Suffocated within the Keep. Regret is a flower bleeding ichor and life; she has treated her companion so poorly when all the tiger ever did was love her, comfort her, tell her that she is strong and she does not need Asterion nor Isra nor Bexley nor Michael. All she needed was herself, was Neerja.
Together, they go to the lake. Neerja lopes off to some bit of grass, flopping in it, rolling in it, not yet travelling to the lakeside as Moira does. The Tonnerre girl looks to the trees lining the edge of Vitreus' surface, looks to their skeletal fingers reaching, climbing, hovering just below the blue blue skies. Below them is the youngest member of their court: Maeve.
To the branches and falling orange the girl looks, heavenward, never down. Does she dream of flying? Does she wonder why the world is so painfully beautiful?
No.
Innocence is pressed into the bones of her spine, the curve of her neck. She looks so much like Morrighan, but she is not her mother. So the phoenix smiles down to her with golden eyes and dark lips when a skinny rear brushes her chest. There is a moment where Maeve draws herself together, stumbles over her words. Moira only chuckles, dropping her head to fondly blow Maeve's scrappy hair out of her eyes. "Am I that scary, little lamb?" She whispers as a conspirator, as the girl's best friend might, and tilts her head to the side when she's at eye level with the child. "Better me than Neerja, she might grumble and swat your feet out from under you. Have you met her yet? I promise she shouldn't bite." Moira Tonnerre ends on a very matter-of-fact whisper, grinning like a jackal.
This is not a woman angry, this is not a woman hurt. Here, she is as soft as the daisies wilting, curling herself to speak eye-to-eye with Maeve as a peer, as something other than a child or a pet. She is the autumn leaves falling softly: beautiful in her rise, beautiful in her fall.
round her, the world is crisp and sharp, a medley of oranges and reds, of the peeling colors on her skin painted in nature. Or perhaps she stole the flame of her breast from the leaves in Denocte before she ever knew that this was to be her home. The Pegasus cannot say, she cannot tell you where her fire originated, just like she cannot tell you where the maples stole their own hue. But it is lovely.
The world is lovely and bright.
Not often is she awake during the day, much more likely to be found wondering the halls in the hours following morning, in the hours before dusk sets in, in the hours of the night when her court comes alive. She loves it, how she loves it and hates it. Every street holds a memory: just there, she walked hip to hip with Asterion through the snow; on that corner, she went towards the sea with Michael; over there, Moira saw Isra for the first time to answer Caligo's call so long ago. Oh, how time seems to fly and the phoenix does not know how many times she has been reborn. Once, a baptism of life when she came doe-eyed and dumb. Once, when she met Caine and he promised and promised her he'd teach her to fly, leaving her a crane that she still has, still hides, still hopes with. Once, when she met Isra and became Denocte's Emissary. Once, when they all left. When all of them left... Once, when she learned she could be okay, that she is okay.
Neerja felt all of it, knew the hum of it in her own wild heart, felt the cosmic repercussions when the phoenix shattered the earth, shattered her heart. The tigress was there for almost all of it, always just waiting to find her winged, flaming cub.
Now, Moira is awake again during the day. Neerja is off to the side, a silent sentinel keeping watch, keeping her safe. The phoenix' heart is a fragile thing, something easily spun into new shapes, new hopes, but just as easily plunged into abysmal despair. So she guards her cub now, a lioness ready to do battle, a dragon spewing smoke before the flame.
Moira does not mind her guardian, looks fondly at the flash of pale fur, blue eyes, the predatory gleam hungering for the jungles, for a run that the phoenix has denied her too long. Since her stay in the monastery, Neerja has not been in the wilds. Caged. Trapped. Suffocated within the Keep. Regret is a flower bleeding ichor and life; she has treated her companion so poorly when all the tiger ever did was love her, comfort her, tell her that she is strong and she does not need Asterion nor Isra nor Bexley nor Michael. All she needed was herself, was Neerja.
Together, they go to the lake. Neerja lopes off to some bit of grass, flopping in it, rolling in it, not yet travelling to the lakeside as Moira does. The Tonnerre girl looks to the trees lining the edge of Vitreus' surface, looks to their skeletal fingers reaching, climbing, hovering just below the blue blue skies. Below them is the youngest member of their court: Maeve.
To the branches and falling orange the girl looks, heavenward, never down. Does she dream of flying? Does she wonder why the world is so painfully beautiful?
No.
Innocence is pressed into the bones of her spine, the curve of her neck. She looks so much like Morrighan, but she is not her mother. So the phoenix smiles down to her with golden eyes and dark lips when a skinny rear brushes her chest. There is a moment where Maeve draws herself together, stumbles over her words. Moira only chuckles, dropping her head to fondly blow Maeve's scrappy hair out of her eyes. "Am I that scary, little lamb?" She whispers as a conspirator, as the girl's best friend might, and tilts her head to the side when she's at eye level with the child. "Better me than Neerja, she might grumble and swat your feet out from under you. Have you met her yet? I promise she shouldn't bite." Moira Tonnerre ends on a very matter-of-fact whisper, grinning like a jackal.
This is not a woman angry, this is not a woman hurt. Here, she is as soft as the daisies wilting, curling herself to speak eye-to-eye with Maeve as a peer, as something other than a child or a pet. She is the autumn leaves falling softly: beautiful in her rise, beautiful in her fall.
@'maeve "speaks" | a soft thing again | « r »
RE: a flame by another name - Maeve - 07-25-2020
M A E V E
- ✦ -
M
oira looks at me and as I stare into her eyes, they are as bright as the sun (maybe even like fire too). However, her voice isn't fiery at all, it's more soft. She blows the hair out of my face like Momma Morr might and I feel a little better."M-maybe," I stutter, my nerves still not quite gone. When she talks about the tiger, I look over and take a big gulp. I don't move a muscle other than to shake my head when asked if I had met the beast before.
I take in just how much bigger she is and how much larger her teeth are. I don't think I want to find out what would happen when she's upset. It makes me think that Momma is very brave for taking on a woman with a tiger as their friend. Moira says the tiger won't bite me, so I just hope that might be true for now.
Since Moira is being so nice, it makes me confused why Momma would hate her so much. She's pretty and kind (although her tiger still looks scary), so what's the big deal? I know Momma gets upset a lot, so maybe they just had a misunderstanding? Still, they are practically arch enemies, so me being here almost feels wrong. It's like if I stay here too long, Momma will come out from the shadows and start yelling. Then the woods would be on fire in minutes. I can feel my heart racing just thinking about it.
"I...I'm not sure if Momma wants me to talk to you," I say with my eyes on the ground now. My voice is so quiet, it's barely a whisper. I feel guilty and sad.
she listens to wind secrets
and echoes of distant star songs
RE: a flame by another name - Moira - 07-29-2020
I WILL ALWAYS WAIT FOR YOU
where the falling stars live
where the falling stars live
With the soft shh, shh of her breath, Maeve settles into something less skittish, more girlish and akin to what a young thing should be, or so the Pegasus supposes. She has little knowledge of what children should be in a place like this. So few have laughed through the halls of Denocte, through the keep and into the kitchen - their mothers still keep them close, still remember a man of silver who slayed children and women and men with no concern for who they were, what they were. Blatant disregard for life that churns the physician's stomach even now, and even though she knows he was not always a monster, she knows he died as any monster would - completely alone and it was his own doing.
Still, her thoughts turn away from Raum and to the girl before her, a smile still teasing the edges of her dark lips. The lightness of Maeve is echoed in the lightness of Moira, the stars upon her skin twinkling playfully as they have not in so long. "I promise," she whispers just as quietly, almost like the song of the wind that brushes their ears and combs their hair, "I would not gobble you up like a wolf would." She lowers herself down then, coming eye to eye, on the level of the smaller version of Morr, and tilts her head, huffs softly to the girl.
The Tonnerre girl knows how gossip works, she's quite certain that the Regent would tell her daughter that Moira eats three children for breakfast and another five for desert at the end of the day along with other atrocities. Usually, this would make her frown, make red ears tip back into the braid along her neck, but today she's got rumors to disprove and a little girl to make smile.
Reaching down beside her knee, a single dandelion is plucked from the ground. Pulling it up and hovering it between the two of them, she tilts her head the other way and nods. "Do you know what this is, little lamb? It's a dandelion. When I was a girl, I'd wish on them. Would you like to wish on this one for me today?" Slowly, she pushes the white fluffy thing closer to Maeve, telling Neerja to settle before she frightens the poor girl half to death. "It would help cheer me when I had a confusing day," the phoenix confesses, watching as a single feathered seed is plucked from her offering, carried on the breeze to find a new start just as she herself had done.
"What would you like to do, Maeve? I'll respect your choice," and it is honest words that meet young ears, earnest words that ring with hope, with the choice she offers her little friend. No matter what the girl decides, Moira would let her be at ease and do as she bade. No one should be forced into the company of another that made them nervous or ill at ease. Someday, somehow though, she would show Maeve that she could trust her, that she is not the monster her mother painted. No matter how the two disagree, Moira can't help but have hope for the children that would be their future.
Still, her thoughts turn away from Raum and to the girl before her, a smile still teasing the edges of her dark lips. The lightness of Maeve is echoed in the lightness of Moira, the stars upon her skin twinkling playfully as they have not in so long. "I promise," she whispers just as quietly, almost like the song of the wind that brushes their ears and combs their hair, "I would not gobble you up like a wolf would." She lowers herself down then, coming eye to eye, on the level of the smaller version of Morr, and tilts her head, huffs softly to the girl.
The Tonnerre girl knows how gossip works, she's quite certain that the Regent would tell her daughter that Moira eats three children for breakfast and another five for desert at the end of the day along with other atrocities. Usually, this would make her frown, make red ears tip back into the braid along her neck, but today she's got rumors to disprove and a little girl to make smile.
Reaching down beside her knee, a single dandelion is plucked from the ground. Pulling it up and hovering it between the two of them, she tilts her head the other way and nods. "Do you know what this is, little lamb? It's a dandelion. When I was a girl, I'd wish on them. Would you like to wish on this one for me today?" Slowly, she pushes the white fluffy thing closer to Maeve, telling Neerja to settle before she frightens the poor girl half to death. "It would help cheer me when I had a confusing day," the phoenix confesses, watching as a single feathered seed is plucked from her offering, carried on the breeze to find a new start just as she herself had done.
"What would you like to do, Maeve? I'll respect your choice," and it is honest words that meet young ears, earnest words that ring with hope, with the choice she offers her little friend. No matter what the girl decides, Moira would let her be at ease and do as she bade. No one should be forced into the company of another that made them nervous or ill at ease. Someday, somehow though, she would show Maeve that she could trust her, that she is not the monster her mother painted. No matter how the two disagree, Moira can't help but have hope for the children that would be their future.
@'maeve' "speaks" | a soft thing again | « r »
RE: a flame by another name - Maeve - 08-05-2020
M A E V E
- ✦ -
I
'm still nervous, but not because Moira would hurt me. Maybe not even because her tiger would. Really I just think it's because of Momma. I don't think she'd hurt me either but she'd be very upset and probably yell at Moira more. I don't want anyone to get in trouble.Although, I'm confused when she talks about a wolf gobbling me up. "Wolves don't gobble up horses," I correct her, thinking about Momma's bonded. "Bram is really nice. We play hide and seek all the time and he's never tried to gobble me before." I'm not sure what wolves Moira's met, but they're clearly not as great as Bram.
She then brings over a dandelion and I put all my attention on this. It seems like it means a lot to her and, while I've seen these plants before, I never thought to make a wish on them. I've made wishes with lanterns and stars, but never plants. I wonder if it makes the wish more powerful somehow. For now, I only take the dandelion and don't do anything with it yet.
As one of the seeds floats away in the breeze, she asks me what I want to do. The problem is I don't know. I'm stuck between what I want and what I'm afraid will happen if I don't. I like to follow my want, but sometimes that leads me to trouble (and sometimes a stern talking to). I hang my head, twirling the dandelion so it floats in place, but spins only slightly.
"Well…" I feel like I want to be honest. I look around again and still don't see Momma. "Maybe I can stay for a little bit." I feel like I'm rebelling a little and it actually feels kind of fun. "If you see Momma though, let me know and I'll go hide." I can't help but giggle- it's like we're both keeping a secret.
I still haven't made a wish, but I don't know what to wish for yet. Instead, something else comes to mind. "Why does my Momma hate you so much? I mean… I don't think you're that scary. I think… she's scarier." I just surprised myself for blurting that out and feel my cheeks get really warm. "Don't tell her I said that…" I whisper, hoping Moira is good at keeping secrets.
she listens to wind secrets
and echoes of distant star songs
RE: a flame by another name - Moira - 11-29-2020
I WILL ALWAYS WAIT FOR YOU
where the falling stars live
where the falling stars live
Amusement tucks itself into the corner of her lips, pressing them tighter and higher, sealing itself there quietly as Moira says “Bram is a very well behaved wolf.” If only his companion were not so hot-tempered, perhaps Moira would like him better. Of course, she knows that she cannot tell Maeve this. The phoenix knows better than to push her opinions on one so impressionable and young.
Even as sharp as Maeve is, and she’s rather bright, it is wrong to turn them against that which they love and their family loves. Moira knows the pains of familial fights more intimately than she’d like to think. While it was unpleasant, she knows it pushed her into what she is… And sometimes she thinks she’s an absolute idiot.
With the dandelion hovering between them, both look left and right then behind the other. The regent is nowhere in sight, and thank the ancestors of that, Moira doesn’t want a tongue lashing in front of Maeve. Some fights are best left behind closed doors. Paper thin walls are better than no walls at all. After a final look over the top of the girl’s head, the pegasus nods. “You’ve my world, little lamb,” she whispers.
Gently, she blows more seeds from the side, letting herself get lost in the way the light catches on white edges and bleeds gold into every fiber as it flies away. She wonders between thoughts of the past and the present, if she were to fly, would she turn into a golden, burning thing too? Would she float away into oblivion? Or would she crash and be remembered as only a meteorite exploding, burning the lives of too many?
It is hard to keep her brow from furrowing, but she holds onto the smile when she looks back to the child.
Maeve, who is so like Morr in her color and build, asks difficult questions to answer. Moira wants so badly to tell her that they do not hate one another - Moira Tonnerre most certainly does not hate the regent - but cannot. The anger, the rage, the boiling unease Morrighan radiates when she even looks in Moira’s direction is enough to know that it is more than dislike. And that is fine.
She tells herself this over and over. It is fine. Moira is so used to being hated for being different and disagreeing with the way things are thought of.
Instead, she purses her lips in thought. After a pause, enough to count their hearts beating, she replies. “Sometimes people don’t see things the same way and I think it upsets her. I am stubborn and resilient and I do not bend as she would wish me to…” The statement is left half finished as the Tonnerre girls’ brow wrinkles at last. With another soft and wicked grin, she leans closer, whispering. “You, little one, are the greatest gift for Morrighan, I am sure. I am so happy she has you.”
Memories of her own mother flood in. Gizelle singing, dancing, baking. Gizelle teaching Moira to love and be passionate and curious about the world. Gizelle...before she was what the Matron wished for her to be - broken, defeated, overtaken by ridiculous rules and beliefs built to cage anyone who was not Tonnerre by trial and torment.
No.
Moira’s mother, before she became what she was never meant to be, is one of her most favorite people. And she knows that her mother loved her dearly - loves her dearly still. Still whispering, the Emissary at last asks “Do you want to know why?”
Even as sharp as Maeve is, and she’s rather bright, it is wrong to turn them against that which they love and their family loves. Moira knows the pains of familial fights more intimately than she’d like to think. While it was unpleasant, she knows it pushed her into what she is… And sometimes she thinks she’s an absolute idiot.
With the dandelion hovering between them, both look left and right then behind the other. The regent is nowhere in sight, and thank the ancestors of that, Moira doesn’t want a tongue lashing in front of Maeve. Some fights are best left behind closed doors. Paper thin walls are better than no walls at all. After a final look over the top of the girl’s head, the pegasus nods. “You’ve my world, little lamb,” she whispers.
Gently, she blows more seeds from the side, letting herself get lost in the way the light catches on white edges and bleeds gold into every fiber as it flies away. She wonders between thoughts of the past and the present, if she were to fly, would she turn into a golden, burning thing too? Would she float away into oblivion? Or would she crash and be remembered as only a meteorite exploding, burning the lives of too many?
It is hard to keep her brow from furrowing, but she holds onto the smile when she looks back to the child.
Maeve, who is so like Morr in her color and build, asks difficult questions to answer. Moira wants so badly to tell her that they do not hate one another - Moira Tonnerre most certainly does not hate the regent - but cannot. The anger, the rage, the boiling unease Morrighan radiates when she even looks in Moira’s direction is enough to know that it is more than dislike. And that is fine.
She tells herself this over and over. It is fine. Moira is so used to being hated for being different and disagreeing with the way things are thought of.
Instead, she purses her lips in thought. After a pause, enough to count their hearts beating, she replies. “Sometimes people don’t see things the same way and I think it upsets her. I am stubborn and resilient and I do not bend as she would wish me to…” The statement is left half finished as the Tonnerre girls’ brow wrinkles at last. With another soft and wicked grin, she leans closer, whispering. “You, little one, are the greatest gift for Morrighan, I am sure. I am so happy she has you.”
Memories of her own mother flood in. Gizelle singing, dancing, baking. Gizelle teaching Moira to love and be passionate and curious about the world. Gizelle...before she was what the Matron wished for her to be - broken, defeated, overtaken by ridiculous rules and beliefs built to cage anyone who was not Tonnerre by trial and torment.
No.
Moira’s mother, before she became what she was never meant to be, is one of her most favorite people. And she knows that her mother loved her dearly - loves her dearly still. Still whispering, the Emissary at last asks “Do you want to know why?”
@'maeve' "speaks" | <3 | « r »
RE: a flame by another name - Maeve - 12-06-2020
M A E V E
- ✦ -
T
hankfully, it seems like I can trust Moira. She won't say anything to Momma and, hopefully, she won't show up here. I'm starting to like Moira and I don't want to have to be ordered to leave just because they're fighting.I watch as the dandelion seeds drift off in the air. They don't fly away right away, just sort of linger there until a breeze comes through and carries them off to the distance. I wonder what they do once they hit the ground, if they regrow or die as abandoned seeds. The second thought makes me a little sad so I don't blow anymore away just in case.
She starts to tell me more about why Momma might hate her and it sort of makes sense. I know Momma isn't the easiest one to be around and many are scared of her (I am too sometimes). But I know if others got to know her more and if she showed the softer side of her more, they would see that there's more than just her fire. I hope maybe I can show them that some day or maybe Momma can be a little less harsh. Although, Novus would probably freeze over before that happened.
Then Moira calls me the greatest gift for Momma and I start to blush. "Really?" I ask, not so sure I believe it. She tells me all the time that she loves me, but there's not really a way for me to know much more than that. I've never doubted our love either, I guess it's just hard to figure out the other sides of her sometimes.
So when Moira asks if I want to know why, I don't hesitate in nodding and I'm really curious to what she'll say next.
she listens to wind secrets
and echoes of distant star songs