I paid the price and own the scars
why did we climb to fall so far ?
she lives, breathes, dies in the present, feels so fully that she could explode should she analyze the emotions, but it is her heart that is caught up in the past where light, laughter and family all shine. they smile at her with raven's eyes and wolf's teeth, watching every breath she takes under the fading sunlight, remembering how she used to shine like the night stars. and she watches them too. every tilted head and tall figure towering over her until she is that child once more, unwanted, a curse, something to be shunned and shamed at every opportunity. it is only the sound of a voice - his voice that pulls her from the reverie.
eluoan ? she wonders, eyes widening marginally as she turns, unaware of the bay she would meet. disappointment curls in the pit of her stomach, raking claws down her inside, but only a sliver of a smile (or a grimace?) and dipping of her head are given. it is then that she looks at asterion, truly looks at those chocolate eyes that melt by the fire, the silver flashes glimmering along the edges of his hair that catch fire in the setting sun, drawn ever further back to the darkness of his skin that is tainted only by the stroke of twilight and rose upon his stomach. he is tall, she notices next, taller than she and broader.
were they cups upon a shelf he would be a firm glass for brandy, and she a mere teacup sitting prettily at his side.
but they are not china nor crystal, to be placed and hung and strung about by those who should rule over them. she is fire and light and completely belonging to herself. an intelligence swirls in her amber eyes as at last she gives another nod. "there are so many firsts we will never see, but should I know who accompanies me for this first to-night?" brow arches inquisitively, a sidelong glance turns back to the light to let it rain down upon her once more as the last of the warmth from the rays filter away.
"I am Moira Tonnerre," she says plainly, no pompous titles, no grandiose gestures. A statement as simple as day, a loneliness echoing in the corridors of her voice. arrogance is not something she could wear even if she tried, instead the cloak of humility rests along her skin, a choker made from forlorn and forsaken droplets strung about her throat. how could she sway so heavily from thought to thought, allow the weight to settle once more when it had nearly vanished just a short while ago? something like disappointment almost tickles her tongue and tastes like ash on the wind. perhaps this stranger, though, could provide something that solitude had not.
perhaps he offers a distraction if only for now.
we made our love out of stacks of cards
@Asterion wee !
