M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
After everything, she still shakes in the shadows, quiet as a dormouse, completely alone once more. Bexley. She'd run right into Bexley Briar after being caught in another world, another train of thought, a distant place that made her smile and made her cringe. For reasons she cannot say, cannot dare speak yet, her heart aches and her bones quake. Completely mortified, embarrassed, berating herself for having been so careless, Moira Tonnerre stands away from the crowds.
As quiet as a ghost, the phoenix woman gravitates toward the main stage when a band of musicians once more begin to gather along the edges. They are slow to congregate, much like her movements in the darkness the trees provide. For a brief moment, Moira longs to be pale like her family, silver and strong, sleek and beautiful. Some wear chocolate as Asterion does, others are bathed in gold, and more still are as flawless as steel towers spiraling into the sky with only stripes in hues so dark she could not give them a name. None of them have wings. None of them wear the shame she does.
And it is her wings that are now flecked with cake she could not wipe off, frosting still along the tips that would require a bath to remove completely. Perhaps she could find a pool to soak in... That can wait, she thinks as she stares at the stage. There is music still to listen to, to let it steal her heart. As the song begins, the notes are faint and haunting. A drum is struck, over and over, the heartbeat, the pulse to match the ebb and flow of energy around them. Flutes join in, high, wispy, as whimsical as her traitorous heart that flings itself at her sparrow-bone rib cage that is becoming a prison that confines her. Violins a struck, low and as mournful as the day she left the Tonnerres alongside Estelle, they bring tears to her already bright eyes, a soft shimmer in the yellow that makes them pop against the red of her face. Surely, were she not already so deep a shade, then her cheeks would be as bright as a tomato at the very thought of her clumsiness.
Although, in this moment, the cake is the furthest thing from her mind. Eyes close, and at last she just lets herself feel. High notes take her to the clouds, to the stories that Gizelle whispers at night. In those seconds between reality and memory, she can taste the rain, feel the storms that lash against her mother's skin. She remembers the soft tickling of hair along her shoulders, over her neck as her mother tucked her in, kissed her goodnight, and then curled up right beside her. For a moment, Moira can remember what it was to be curled in the arms of her family, held so near and so dearly so that she knew she was loved by at least one person. It's a heady elixir, the magic of music, one that she's willing to let live within her, become an inferno, in the shadows of the trees where no others seem to be.
@Seraphina :D hello, i should probably be asleep. please interrupt her.
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
After everything, she still shakes in the shadows, quiet as a dormouse, completely alone once more. Bexley. She'd run right into Bexley Briar after being caught in another world, another train of thought, a distant place that made her smile and made her cringe. For reasons she cannot say, cannot dare speak yet, her heart aches and her bones quake. Completely mortified, embarrassed, berating herself for having been so careless, Moira Tonnerre stands away from the crowds.
As quiet as a ghost, the phoenix woman gravitates toward the main stage when a band of musicians once more begin to gather along the edges. They are slow to congregate, much like her movements in the darkness the trees provide. For a brief moment, Moira longs to be pale like her family, silver and strong, sleek and beautiful. Some wear chocolate as Asterion does, others are bathed in gold, and more still are as flawless as steel towers spiraling into the sky with only stripes in hues so dark she could not give them a name. None of them have wings. None of them wear the shame she does.
And it is her wings that are now flecked with cake she could not wipe off, frosting still along the tips that would require a bath to remove completely. Perhaps she could find a pool to soak in... That can wait, she thinks as she stares at the stage. There is music still to listen to, to let it steal her heart. As the song begins, the notes are faint and haunting. A drum is struck, over and over, the heartbeat, the pulse to match the ebb and flow of energy around them. Flutes join in, high, wispy, as whimsical as her traitorous heart that flings itself at her sparrow-bone rib cage that is becoming a prison that confines her. Violins a struck, low and as mournful as the day she left the Tonnerres alongside Estelle, they bring tears to her already bright eyes, a soft shimmer in the yellow that makes them pop against the red of her face. Surely, were she not already so deep a shade, then her cheeks would be as bright as a tomato at the very thought of her clumsiness.
Although, in this moment, the cake is the furthest thing from her mind. Eyes close, and at last she just lets herself feel. High notes take her to the clouds, to the stories that Gizelle whispers at night. In those seconds between reality and memory, she can taste the rain, feel the storms that lash against her mother's skin. She remembers the soft tickling of hair along her shoulders, over her neck as her mother tucked her in, kissed her goodnight, and then curled up right beside her. For a moment, Moira can remember what it was to be curled in the arms of her family, held so near and so dearly so that she knew she was loved by at least one person. It's a heady elixir, the magic of music, one that she's willing to let live within her, become an inferno, in the shadows of the trees where no others seem to be.
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