I paid the price and own the scars
why did we climb to fall so far ?
This world is made of magic and monsters, acrylics given flesh, subjects bursting from paintings to swarm upon the floors, in corridors and commons alike, in nooks and crannies, behind curtains that stretch from floor to roof with no end in sight. They dress in purple and blue and black to hide skin so dark or fair, assimilated and yet completely individual with carnal desires reigning free within their souls.
She is not like them. The woman born of phoenix feather and flame, embroiled in sunsets and sorrow, does not don the garb of the Gypsy King's court, nor does she feel it a necessity to dampen anything about herself. Beauty is something Estelle possesses, she is a figment, a flaw upon the tapestry of Tonnerre names to be remembered only by her brilliance and generosity. Wings, wings that are abominations within their long lineage are quickly placed close to her sides, tucking tight so as to be unnoticed as they were to be within the walls of her home. No matter, some days she wishes she were born as the others are: silver and strong with lightning in their veins that crackles over their skin in a brilliant display of splendor and power. Each Tonnerre was perfect - bred to be a pillar of beauty and strength that all could look to.
Moira is not one of them.
They accept her as these people do, and she sees the same greedy interest in the King's eyes before he wipes it away to simply observe. What a smart man she finds, a wolf in sheep's clothing. He seems so soft as though he could melt into the night, as though his cocoa skin would drip away like the cups that were spilled on coffee tables with frustrated sighs and garbled apologies. A looseness of movements shows his comfort in his own skin, and she cannot help but to almost be envious of such a trait. When had Moira truly felt alright to splay her wings proudly, to lift them to the sky and sing and dance and shout in a glorious display her mother would have adored and her pale father would have smiled for in spite of their family?
Sorrow flickers along the edges of her brain, tickles synapses that are unnecessary for now, as she realizes that she's never done that while an adult. Once, when a child, perhaps she'd allowed herself the pleasure of flexing feathered appendages simply to know how it felt. But that was years ago and has since been expunged from her daily habits.
Clearing her throat, she pushes a congenial smile onto burnt brick visage, amber eyes glittering as they take in all of the King once more. "And you, my King. I believed a meeting was in order at last, please excuse me for having postponed it so long?" Soft, so soft are her words that are nearly whispered, a hush you must lean in to hear, something that is not submissive, but completely unremarkable in a way so that she would be so easy to forget. The very timbre of her voice is like the sea gently lapping the shore, washing away anything you'd value until all you know is the steady pulsing rhythm that sooths you to sleep. "I've taken a position in your infirmary," there is a ghost of that smile now, a longing stitched into angled planes or her fair face as she does not quite meet his eyes. "My family is not here, but they trained exquisite healers"
@Reichenbach well this is awkward ha, and no worries whatsoever ! <3 reich is so wonderful, i adore reading him !
we made our love out of stacks of cards
