M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Seraphina is a whisper on the ground, a shadow in the sky, that does not catch Moira's attention until it is too late. Golden eyes become wider, darting up quickly, and meet amber that matches her own. But that is where the similarities end. All the woman sees is color for a moment - or lack thereof - and she almost forgets to breathe. Has her family come? Will they take Estelle back and pull her into their arms once more so that she could spend countless hours in hallways with great and beautiful murals of which she could only hope to achieve such splendor as them one day? Hope blossoms quickly as a night-blooming flower, and just as quickly it dies when the phoenix sees the woman's face fully. Colors are not on her skin, just like her family's in many ways, but her face is not curved, her ears are not dewdrops. Quick as a cat, the light that came flickers down to a dull hum once more as she dips her head.
As is proper, the corners of Moira's mouth curve up politely, but she cannot keep the disappointment from her eyes. Tonight, after all has gone wrong and the music pulls melancholy from her soul like lemonade in the summer, all she wishes to do is throw herself into the twins' arms and have them tell her something good. Instead, she shifts on her feet and looks to the stage as though thinking. After two tense moments of chewing on the edge of her lip, she nods. "Isn't there always so much to consider and contemplate in life? Only the dead sleep soundly, it seems." And she knows this; Moira saw the soul when it left her many cousins eyes after they died too young, she talked with Eik as he hunted for Valerian to find some piece at night, and she cried for hours on end wishing her life were different before when her family would not hear (or see) her sorrow. From the collar (from the scars), the phoenix woman thinks that perhaps this woman has her own stories keeping her awake at night, too.
But she is beautiful and sharp, like a dagger. A crown of lilies for mourning in place upon her head, where Moira's own crowned bouquet are thankfully back as they were before. Again, her heart beats faster, squeezes more painfully, as she looks at silver and steel skin, golden eyes, long white hair. It is such a painful reminder of the family she left. Yet she does not comment on this, instead, with a smile sputtering to life like a firefly at night, she says "You're beautiful." And it is a whisper so soft, so gentle, that perhaps this is a dream instead of reality. If it is a dream, she hopes, then let it be a brighter one than before.
@Seraphina <3 sorry this took a lil while ;o; they're precious together. sera be gentle to herrr
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Seraphina is a whisper on the ground, a shadow in the sky, that does not catch Moira's attention until it is too late. Golden eyes become wider, darting up quickly, and meet amber that matches her own. But that is where the similarities end. All the woman sees is color for a moment - or lack thereof - and she almost forgets to breathe. Has her family come? Will they take Estelle back and pull her into their arms once more so that she could spend countless hours in hallways with great and beautiful murals of which she could only hope to achieve such splendor as them one day? Hope blossoms quickly as a night-blooming flower, and just as quickly it dies when the phoenix sees the woman's face fully. Colors are not on her skin, just like her family's in many ways, but her face is not curved, her ears are not dewdrops. Quick as a cat, the light that came flickers down to a dull hum once more as she dips her head.
As is proper, the corners of Moira's mouth curve up politely, but she cannot keep the disappointment from her eyes. Tonight, after all has gone wrong and the music pulls melancholy from her soul like lemonade in the summer, all she wishes to do is throw herself into the twins' arms and have them tell her something good. Instead, she shifts on her feet and looks to the stage as though thinking. After two tense moments of chewing on the edge of her lip, she nods. "Isn't there always so much to consider and contemplate in life? Only the dead sleep soundly, it seems." And she knows this; Moira saw the soul when it left her many cousins eyes after they died too young, she talked with Eik as he hunted for Valerian to find some piece at night, and she cried for hours on end wishing her life were different before when her family would not hear (or see) her sorrow. From the collar (from the scars), the phoenix woman thinks that perhaps this woman has her own stories keeping her awake at night, too.
But she is beautiful and sharp, like a dagger. A crown of lilies for mourning in place upon her head, where Moira's own crowned bouquet are thankfully back as they were before. Again, her heart beats faster, squeezes more painfully, as she looks at silver and steel skin, golden eyes, long white hair. It is such a painful reminder of the family she left. Yet she does not comment on this, instead, with a smile sputtering to life like a firefly at night, she says "You're beautiful." And it is a whisper so soft, so gentle, that perhaps this is a dream instead of reality. If it is a dream, she hopes, then let it be a brighter one than before.
@
