I paid the price and own the scars
why did we climb to fall so far ?
How'd you wind up here Mo, she thinks quietly as amber eyes drift as images arise in her mind's eye. Before, she had been meaning to return to her infirmary and library, tuck herself away into a corner of the world where silence would return and she could think without the blustering noise of the sea on the Cliffside and the gulls screaming through the air. Not to say that she hadn't thoroughly enjoyed Asterion's company, and even Thorvald had proved to be rather interesting (even though he bled and bled without a care), but she was in dire need of a reprieve from people. Fireplaces and tea, the twins, even her mentor come floating back to her with a small, wistful sigh slipping past a deep brick red lips that quickly close again. For all the silence she craves, she realizes it is more important to not emit such noises in a land she does not know.
The desert sands had kissed her feet, she remembers vaguely, even as a looming mountain comes into view. But these are not the beautiful peaks she remembers, even the trees upon the base are changed from those that hide her home, her refuge. Sepia sands make way for the darker hues of earth rich with life, but even then there should have been more vegetation, not this desert that would swallow her should the sun be high.
Which is the second mystery she can't seem to figure out - how had she lost track of time so fully that the moon now shone overhead to light her way when she knew she should be asleep, or better yet, reading some ancient book or another full of helpful hints for maladies and ailments alike? Fatigue eats at her legs as she lifts eat foot and replaces it with the next. Just keep moving, she tells herself over and over. There's bound to be someone who knows where she's at - how to get home.
But should she appear so vulnerable?
Probably not, but she's had such a long day already. Caught up into the night before with the man of chocolate who wears twilight as a collar and cloak, wraps it upon his skin as the sun had vanished and the stars came to say hello. They'd talked for so long, she'd been so at ease - it was almost like home, but Moira could not tell him that. There was still so much strangeness that left her stomach unsettled and roiling. Then Thorvald had been bleeding, and every instinct in her screamed to help. So she'd stayed awake longer instead of traveling back during the daytime hours.
It would have been a wiser choice to find Asterion once more and ask for a room for the night, but Moira was as stubborn as a mule when she set her sights on something. Now, the dry air stings her eyes that long to close for just a moment even as the sun tries to make his grandiose appearance. What a lovely sight it would have been were she not bone tired and ready to drop.
Under blushing colors she sees a figure - arching neck and sleek muscles hidden under a silver skin that is kissed by smoke and spots. Relief sweeps through her where apprehension should have risen its head, and without so much as a cautionary thought she quickens her tired steps to reach the man that stares at the ground so deep in thought. It is only when Moira is near enough that she sees a darker spot - not monochromatic like the man - made of blood and tissue that she manages to stop and frown. "Why are you all hurt?" It isn't something that was meant to come out, but ears were already bedded within her black hair that was coming undone from buns and braids. She'd have to redo it when she got home. Snappish tone is not unpleasant, but exasperation is a heavy weight within, something dangerous when she's not so focused on people as she is her own needs. What a silly girl, to be so cruel.
"And why are you out under the moon, don't you need sleep?" After a thoughtful pause she pulls back a step or two, shaking her head. "Where...where am I?" the phoenix woman stammers at last, looking as hopeless and lost as she feels.
we made our love out of stacks of cards
@
