I paid the price and own the scars
why did we climb to fall so far ?
"There is no better use for them than to help another," she says plainly, as though the mere thought of passing by is an offense to her very being. hands, meant to help and to heal, could twitch with the casualness he uses to disregard himself. it is a stinging cut, a laceration bathed in salt that burns and bleeds, something she cannot fathom. why should he feel so horribly toward himself that he would rather bleed than consider her help as just that - help. Moira knows better than to force herself and her opinions on others, but the demand in her to heal is too strong to deny.
pale brows fall heavily over amber eyes that spark as he continues, uninterrupted at last. in the seconds between his words, her chest heaves more with screams that will never see the light of day. You should be weary she longs to tell him, do not destroy yourself so wholly that all should be lost. No matter what she wishes - to use words as battering rams to be thrown and shoved and forced upon the walls of his castle, to thrust knowledge and advice as a storm left unchecked - she will not give in to these urges. Silence prevails, no sound uttered from sanguine lips.
He is walking poetry, a painting of black and white lit with chocolate and caramel. Crafted so beautifully that the artist in her could cry from the mere perfection of it all. His body sighs with every movement, the wind wails her laments when her touch does not affect him. Only the dripping of his blood brings her back to the questions at hand.
The question itself is rather interesting, for they are strangers. "Should one life matter less than another just because I do not know it?" she counters, both brows now raised. "A healer cares little for whom they treat, there is a song in our soul that need be answered. I cannot sing and dance and simply exist for myself. I am as much a slave to the demand to help as you are the blood in your veins. But," she pauses, chewing on her lip a moment. "Of the strangers I've met, those that have cuts or bleed, I think I worry over them… Yes. Is it a bother?"
Few were decent among the Tonnerres. Perhaps Moira was an exception, but that was yet to be seen. She shews her lip as she waits for an answer, something to ease the gnawing curiosity and desire to save the world, if you will.
we made our love out of stacks of cards
@Thorvald <3
