I paid the price and own the scars
why did we climb to fall so far ?
Raum sees her as Solis' lover, swaddled in his unending fire, bathed in his holy light. Little does he know she is raised by a den of vipers, a hive of bees. He is not the lightning that runs in Tonnerre veins, does not whether the storms as she's learned to do, but he could have been. Their eyes meet in a clash of fire and ice, sparks lighting between them - the phoenix does not know what to make of him. He is new, he is as strange as Denocte. She's met so few, too few, merely existed in her wing of the world and doing as she should. Moira is a quiet soul, needing little, wanting for less. What is it this mercurial man desires?
Night creeps upon them softly, slowly. It is a lullaby that eases tense muscles and wraps them in the hum of crickets on the shoreline. She does not mind the dark, revels in the secrets it holds, would bathe in its glory if she could. But she is not Calligo's daughter. She is not Denocte's blood.
She is Tonnerre.
Born instead of storms and manners, made of lightning and ice, given the world on the end of a string and shunning it for the sake of a single soul. A soul more precious to Moira than her own life. If she could, she would trade places with Estelle, give her own health to revive the woman who suffers even now, so far away from Moira that she burns with agony and sorrow whenever her mind wonders that way. So the distraction provided is welcome at last, to keep her from seeing the wraith, the witch, the betrayal in the waves that lap at their legs.
Ripples hit her from his movements. They are as gentle as the man's words.
Wings shift, clinging closer with every syllable he murmurs. With a voice like honey, he could convince a snake it was a dog if he tries. Something like that could be dangerous. She listens still, caught up in his words, some part thinking that her own voice, although soft, is like the desert sands shifting compared to his. More of a sigh and a whisper than the musical notes he sings, as calming as the waves lapping at the beach on a sunny day, it's something easily forgotten as the girl wants it to be.
Raising high to peer at Raum's reflection, she wonders what it shows him. Is it as deplorable as her own? "What is only two dimensional cannot catch all that is in three," she agrees at last, hot breath tickling whiskers on her chin, flowing down to her chest, to the surface of the water once more. "A lie," she muses, she hopes. For then would she not be innocent? Free of this guilt that is a shackle upon her wrists, a collar about her neck, a gilded cage of golden bobbles and silver trinkets meant to guide her to an early grave. "Perhaps you should work on yourself then. I'm Moira Tonnerre, are you from Denocte?"
code: e-cho; image: unsplash @Raum <3
we made our love out of stacks of cards
