M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
She has never witnessed a god, was not taught to worship them and bask in the temples outside of their estate, but it is what these people do. Moira is curious to immerse herself within the heart of Novus. To many, she is an onlooker, held at bay as a doctor, a healer, a player on the sidelines that's never quite remembered clearly. To others, she is a painter, an artist, a lover, a fighter. And to a special stranger, she almost rivaled Solis himself when he saw her. They could have been lovers with the way light reflects off of her skin set afire, they could have been immortalized in stone side by side only to have their hearts begin to beat again at the same time.
So many possible futures and pasts and could have beens.
But Moira is not his lover, she is not just a healer, she is more than an artist. With nothing but a wish to learn, a need to know, a desire for the unknown pulling her from the halls of Denocte long after the citizens went to the summit to greet one another to the top of the Peak. Once before has she been at its base, along the desert and dreamlands, in a haze of restlessness with a boy who was far too pretty and could have been her family were he not so different from them. They are the stormy skies and lightning showers, they are sparks and flames, they are everything she will almost never be.
But they would not come to this mountaintop. They would not step inside the shrine that held the god who she would dare to rival in looks alone. And Moira Tonnerre is not just the creature her family made.
She is a being of her own imagination, and so she steps fearlessly into the shrine that Solis called home, made her way down the path lit by everlasting light on the walls, following the voices ahead. Some were familiar, others were not.
The phoenix looks to Seraphina, to Bexley who was ready to burst, to Aethelind - the one with wings that set Moira's heart beating so quickly she could hardly catch her breath, to Ephion who wore darkness unlike the man that haunts her dreams, to Pavetta who was perhaps the most normal of them all. Once she's seen them all, once those amber eyes rove over the women gathered before the god, only then does she dare to look at the statue given life. Light falls from him as it does the sky, yet her heart does not race at the sight of it - of him. Instead, the woman moves forward like a stream. Smooth. Flowing. She approaches, turns about him as any doctor would inspect their patient, and when the world holds its breath, when she leans in until she can feel her breath upon his neck, her lips quirk up in a curious smile. "You smell like sunlight and dust - you've been stagnant too long I assume. I came here to learn, but I found you and them instead. I'm Moira Tonnerre, but who are you?" Low, so low her voice is nearly a whisper, the rumbling of waves washing back to sea, a mere memory breathing its last breath. She is quiet once more, a candle flame smothered too soon, and still those merry eyes dance with curiosity and the need to know more, to do more.
@RandomEvents she's in his bubble. girl needs to back off.
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
She has never witnessed a god, was not taught to worship them and bask in the temples outside of their estate, but it is what these people do. Moira is curious to immerse herself within the heart of Novus. To many, she is an onlooker, held at bay as a doctor, a healer, a player on the sidelines that's never quite remembered clearly. To others, she is a painter, an artist, a lover, a fighter. And to a special stranger, she almost rivaled Solis himself when he saw her. They could have been lovers with the way light reflects off of her skin set afire, they could have been immortalized in stone side by side only to have their hearts begin to beat again at the same time.
So many possible futures and pasts and could have beens.
But Moira is not his lover, she is not just a healer, she is more than an artist. With nothing but a wish to learn, a need to know, a desire for the unknown pulling her from the halls of Denocte long after the citizens went to the summit to greet one another to the top of the Peak. Once before has she been at its base, along the desert and dreamlands, in a haze of restlessness with a boy who was far too pretty and could have been her family were he not so different from them. They are the stormy skies and lightning showers, they are sparks and flames, they are everything she will almost never be.
But they would not come to this mountaintop. They would not step inside the shrine that held the god who she would dare to rival in looks alone. And Moira Tonnerre is not just the creature her family made.
She is a being of her own imagination, and so she steps fearlessly into the shrine that Solis called home, made her way down the path lit by everlasting light on the walls, following the voices ahead. Some were familiar, others were not.
The phoenix looks to Seraphina, to Bexley who was ready to burst, to Aethelind - the one with wings that set Moira's heart beating so quickly she could hardly catch her breath, to Ephion who wore darkness unlike the man that haunts her dreams, to Pavetta who was perhaps the most normal of them all. Once she's seen them all, once those amber eyes rove over the women gathered before the god, only then does she dare to look at the statue given life. Light falls from him as it does the sky, yet her heart does not race at the sight of it - of him. Instead, the woman moves forward like a stream. Smooth. Flowing. She approaches, turns about him as any doctor would inspect their patient, and when the world holds its breath, when she leans in until she can feel her breath upon his neck, her lips quirk up in a curious smile. "You smell like sunlight and dust - you've been stagnant too long I assume. I came here to learn, but I found you and them instead. I'm Moira Tonnerre, but who are you?" Low, so low her voice is nearly a whisper, the rumbling of waves washing back to sea, a mere memory breathing its last breath. She is quiet once more, a candle flame smothered too soon, and still those merry eyes dance with curiosity and the need to know more, to do more.
@RandomEvents she's in his bubble. girl needs to back off.
