I paid the price and own the scars
why did we climb to fall so far ?
In such a state between dreams and wakefulness, she finds herself rather blind to the world and finally in a blissful repose. So many times she's tossed and turned in her chambers, unable to find a comfortable position, wishing that she had the twins to curl against, or even her cousin who would laugh like they were girls again and throw herself wholly against Moira's side. It is calming to know the darkness so well and encompass herself in its silent embrace, twine her fingers with its own riddled hands and kiss them as though she'd propose. For a time, she lays here with such blatant disregard for the rest of the world that she doesn't know another approaches and sits, is unaware that every fiber of her being is currently under examination, and only when a voice as warm as the first taste of Spring crawls into the folds of her reality does she furrow her brows.
When you wake up, you're not quite sure what's going on. It's a hazy world she finds herself in, eyes half closed still as she stretches, a comical display of the wooden table still visible upon her dark cheek and the crease of a book upon her forehead. Only when he speaks again does Moira bother to look at those lovely silver eyes that analyze her with such interested disinterest, glances down to the teeth which are bared in a display that she cannot decide is feral or charming, and comes to the conclusion he should not have interrupted her nap like that at all. Moira huffs, casting a rather dark, unbidden flick of her eyes his way even as she hurriedly pulls the tome nearer her body. "I don't drool," she growls, daring him to counter that statement with a storm broiling in those amber eyes. Usually there would be a calm pool to stare at the world with vague interest, but mostly memories. Now, in such an addled state storms brew as they do at sea, the possibility of a hurricane on the horizon.
"Isn't there something about how it's rude to wake another who's sleeping? Or were you raised an awful brute with a pretty face?" Only after she claims he's pretty does she realize what she's said and seems to fully awaken. A shocked gasp eliciting from between red lips as a blush steals up her neck. Were she fairer, she would have been crimson by now, but the gods bless her with a sunset for skin, and those conflagrations now cover the redness seeping into her face. "It's quiet here is what it is," she finally states with another indignant huff, unwilling to dig herself out of this yet. Maybe this tall, dark, and handsome stranger would just leave her alone with her lists of poultices and knot-tying strategies so that she could get another few minutes of sleep. Maybe he'd simply disappear into the darkness that he so obviously blends with (even though it's something she keeps glancing at around them, and then looking at him once more.)
@Caine i'm so sorry this post isn't that great ;o; she also hasn't realized he has wings yet, we're still waking up c': I love caine !
we made our love out of stacks of cards
