M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Eik. Such a simple name; short and sweet and easy to remember. But it's the way that he says it, how the sound rolls off his tongue as dewdrops do flower petals when the sun rises higher and higher in the sky. Moira sees the way his shoulders square with his own introduction, the small, yet proud raising of his head, and her eyes meet his with a nod and a smile. For a moment, she forgets her fatigue, the way she's stumbled and tripped mere moments before meeting him in the sands, and is just a girl standing near a boy to see the sun peek over the mountaintops.
She hums her approval, rather than vocalizing it. Her next question takes longer for him to reply to, and Moira wonders what other horrors he relives in those moments. There are so many ups and downs in her own sordid past that she chose to push into some forgotten corner and pray that those skeletons were never unburied. How many would they find in her closets? How many did they find in his? Amber eyes travel over the whole of him once more, over every rippling muscle and trampling scar that follows, ever spotted freckle upon his skin that is nestled so beautifully into the white she cannot help but be nearly envious. Upon her, there is fire and sunlight, stars shining so bright they draw the eye. There is nothing subtle about Moira Tonnere save for her actions, her motives, and everything she hopes to achieve. Physically, the woman is a conflagration upon the grounds, she is living silk and walking heartache. Every step she takes is poetry, and maybe that is why she often prefers not to move.
Alas, inner turmoil and contemplations, oil alit in a pyre of flames, are soothed when his voice rings true once more. Solterra. Tasting the word in her mind, her head tilts to the side. It is just enough to show that she does not know of this place yet. Oh, of course there were whispers and some passages in the books she'd passed in the library late at night, but they are not the books that the phoenix reads. His next admission brings her to meet his eyes with sympathy crusting along the edges of her own. Was it really so bad that he should wilt so visibly?
'Chin up Moira. If you are to be a Tonnerre you put on a good face no matter how damaged you are within.' And so she wears a placid expression. Estelle would have some vapid pout upon her face were she hear, boredom etched into every silver line that contradicts and counters Mo's in every way. She knows her cousin better than she knows herself someday. Loss is like a poison that slowly kills her. Some days it is easier to ignore, yet his obvious sorrow calls her own out to roar like a lion. She could have gasped for air, a howling, raging mess upon the ground for the cruelty of the world. So many possibilities, but instead Moira feels the knot form in her stomach and schools her features.
No one will ever see her vulnerable.
All too soon he broaches the subject of her wings, of the skies and the clouds she's only painted and never truly been a part of. Bile rises in her throat, that which she's tried so hard to hold down. Images of burning feathers and endless bandages and patches, bruises and wilts rise for her to see. Remember they sing, a tempting lullaby aching to pull her in. With everything she is she resists. "I wouldn't know. The skies have held me as much as they have you. Only the cliffs of Terrastella have painted an image of creatures as ants and clouds as lovers. These wings are meant as broken things." A bitterness touches her tone, a regret that she's never seen the sky. It is enough to hold the terror, the pain, away for one more day in the company of a land-dweller.
Pausing to think, she looks to the rising sun. Should she pry further into his life or walk a safer path that would lead them further apart? Nothing is there to sway her one way or the other, and so instead she tilts her head to the other side while stepping nearer. "Why can't you sleep, Eik?"
@Eik ;o; he's way too precious
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Eik. Such a simple name; short and sweet and easy to remember. But it's the way that he says it, how the sound rolls off his tongue as dewdrops do flower petals when the sun rises higher and higher in the sky. Moira sees the way his shoulders square with his own introduction, the small, yet proud raising of his head, and her eyes meet his with a nod and a smile. For a moment, she forgets her fatigue, the way she's stumbled and tripped mere moments before meeting him in the sands, and is just a girl standing near a boy to see the sun peek over the mountaintops.
She hums her approval, rather than vocalizing it. Her next question takes longer for him to reply to, and Moira wonders what other horrors he relives in those moments. There are so many ups and downs in her own sordid past that she chose to push into some forgotten corner and pray that those skeletons were never unburied. How many would they find in her closets? How many did they find in his? Amber eyes travel over the whole of him once more, over every rippling muscle and trampling scar that follows, ever spotted freckle upon his skin that is nestled so beautifully into the white she cannot help but be nearly envious. Upon her, there is fire and sunlight, stars shining so bright they draw the eye. There is nothing subtle about Moira Tonnere save for her actions, her motives, and everything she hopes to achieve. Physically, the woman is a conflagration upon the grounds, she is living silk and walking heartache. Every step she takes is poetry, and maybe that is why she often prefers not to move.
Alas, inner turmoil and contemplations, oil alit in a pyre of flames, are soothed when his voice rings true once more. Solterra. Tasting the word in her mind, her head tilts to the side. It is just enough to show that she does not know of this place yet. Oh, of course there were whispers and some passages in the books she'd passed in the library late at night, but they are not the books that the phoenix reads. His next admission brings her to meet his eyes with sympathy crusting along the edges of her own. Was it really so bad that he should wilt so visibly?
'Chin up Moira. If you are to be a Tonnerre you put on a good face no matter how damaged you are within.' And so she wears a placid expression. Estelle would have some vapid pout upon her face were she hear, boredom etched into every silver line that contradicts and counters Mo's in every way. She knows her cousin better than she knows herself someday. Loss is like a poison that slowly kills her. Some days it is easier to ignore, yet his obvious sorrow calls her own out to roar like a lion. She could have gasped for air, a howling, raging mess upon the ground for the cruelty of the world. So many possibilities, but instead Moira feels the knot form in her stomach and schools her features.
No one will ever see her vulnerable.
All too soon he broaches the subject of her wings, of the skies and the clouds she's only painted and never truly been a part of. Bile rises in her throat, that which she's tried so hard to hold down. Images of burning feathers and endless bandages and patches, bruises and wilts rise for her to see. Remember they sing, a tempting lullaby aching to pull her in. With everything she is she resists. "I wouldn't know. The skies have held me as much as they have you. Only the cliffs of Terrastella have painted an image of creatures as ants and clouds as lovers. These wings are meant as broken things." A bitterness touches her tone, a regret that she's never seen the sky. It is enough to hold the terror, the pain, away for one more day in the company of a land-dweller.
Pausing to think, she looks to the rising sun. Should she pry further into his life or walk a safer path that would lead them further apart? Nothing is there to sway her one way or the other, and so instead she tilts her head to the other side while stepping nearer. "Why can't you sleep, Eik?"
@
