M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Song halts as abruptly as it had begun when movement once more ensues. Breath, no longer a steady drum to which Moira could guide the song, has increased just as the heartbeat within Aethelind's breast has done. Amber eyes shift cautiously to pale wings of cream and moonlight. Mercifully, they remain still. Only The woman's head lifts, bright blue eyes meeting the phoenix' prudent stare.
Honestly, she would have gotten up there and then and left.
But there is such a light, such a yearning in those eyes that holds Moira rooted to the ground. Winds rush past them, pulling locks of silver and ivory until they intermingle. Blooming flowers from trees above float down, gently landing on the two until they are speckled with pink smudges. Really, it is beautiful... Everything about it is so lovely. All save for those damnable wings.
For a moment, the Tonnerre child has no voice, cannot muster anything to say at all. She was not told as a girl that her voice was pretty, only that she should work endlessly to master it. The compliment falls into a cauldron of emotion that swirls and writhes with this new tidbit, this thing that makes her blush and lashes fall. It is a shyness that overcomes her, timid as a mouse as she smiles so gently and peeks through those dark lashes, through a veil of hair that fell down from her braids. "Thank you," and the reply is not ash as she felt after the gates closed, after she remembered Caine and her confessions, after she laughed with Asterion and Seraphina and Bexley under the stars. Joy bursts, bright as the sun above the, singing in her veins.
With an awkward silence upon them, she clears her throat and shifts further away. Moira does not meet the expectant eyes of Aethelind, instead she looks to the trees above. "Don't move your...your wings please. I'll continue." This, this small request is almost a whisper, almost a plea - stuck somewhere between the worlds of wanting and needing the stillness to continue. Should it shatter, like a crystal chandelier falling to the ground, shards grazing every drop of her reality's skin until it is a bloody tapestry, she knows she will run. With only blind faith and hope, Moira begins once more.
"Who told you so, dilly dilly,
Who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so
Call up your friends, dilly, dilly
Set them to work
Some to the plough, dilly dilly,
Some to the fork
Some to the hay, dilly dilly,
Some to thresh corn
Whilst you and I, dilly dilly,
Keep ourselves warm
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender's green
When you are king, dilly dilly,
I shall be queen"
Lilting, throaty, she ends the song and smiles. It is a melody her mother once sang, over and over, whilst Moira fell asleep. It is a balm on open wounds that bleed and fester, a cool bath when the day's been too warm, but mostly it is peace.
@Aethelind <3 ;u; no worries whatsoever ! Have an awkward nostalgic Mo <3 ily and i adore Aethel, Semp !
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Song halts as abruptly as it had begun when movement once more ensues. Breath, no longer a steady drum to which Moira could guide the song, has increased just as the heartbeat within Aethelind's breast has done. Amber eyes shift cautiously to pale wings of cream and moonlight. Mercifully, they remain still. Only The woman's head lifts, bright blue eyes meeting the phoenix' prudent stare.
Honestly, she would have gotten up there and then and left.
But there is such a light, such a yearning in those eyes that holds Moira rooted to the ground. Winds rush past them, pulling locks of silver and ivory until they intermingle. Blooming flowers from trees above float down, gently landing on the two until they are speckled with pink smudges. Really, it is beautiful... Everything about it is so lovely. All save for those damnable wings.
For a moment, the Tonnerre child has no voice, cannot muster anything to say at all. She was not told as a girl that her voice was pretty, only that she should work endlessly to master it. The compliment falls into a cauldron of emotion that swirls and writhes with this new tidbit, this thing that makes her blush and lashes fall. It is a shyness that overcomes her, timid as a mouse as she smiles so gently and peeks through those dark lashes, through a veil of hair that fell down from her braids. "Thank you," and the reply is not ash as she felt after the gates closed, after she remembered Caine and her confessions, after she laughed with Asterion and Seraphina and Bexley under the stars. Joy bursts, bright as the sun above the, singing in her veins.
With an awkward silence upon them, she clears her throat and shifts further away. Moira does not meet the expectant eyes of Aethelind, instead she looks to the trees above. "Don't move your...your wings please. I'll continue." This, this small request is almost a whisper, almost a plea - stuck somewhere between the worlds of wanting and needing the stillness to continue. Should it shatter, like a crystal chandelier falling to the ground, shards grazing every drop of her reality's skin until it is a bloody tapestry, she knows she will run. With only blind faith and hope, Moira begins once more.
Who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so
Call up your friends, dilly, dilly
Set them to work
Some to the plough, dilly dilly,
Some to the fork
Some to the hay, dilly dilly,
Some to thresh corn
Whilst you and I, dilly dilly,
Keep ourselves warm
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender's green
When you are king, dilly dilly,
I shall be queen"
Lilting, throaty, she ends the song and smiles. It is a melody her mother once sang, over and over, whilst Moira fell asleep. It is a balm on open wounds that bleed and fester, a cool bath when the day's been too warm, but mostly it is peace.
@Aethelind <3 ;u; no worries whatsoever ! Have an awkward nostalgic Mo <3 ily and i adore Aethel, Semp !
