Moira Tonnerre
where you go, i shall follow
where you go, i shall follow
"Leo," she muses, looking off in the distance for but a moment. Moira remembers his sterling silver body, his gunpowder skin kissed by dapples. She remembers those off-gold hooves and piercing blue eyes. His angled mane. Every inch of him held true to their Arabian looks. Taller than she, but also more mischievous. Dark smiles meant for dinners by candle and beaches under the moon, silver ears too keen to listen and be whispered in, but he was sweet. If, that is, ambition could allow such sweetness to be a part of someone. But he was just a part of the past now, one that she sighs over after a moment. "He was a boy who thought he loved a girl and was too young to know any better. But I'm sure he's a fine man now. I do hope he's well. He was always so political, but never cared for the correctness of his own interests." And there is the sadness that is a living thing within her. Like a tapeworm, it hides in the pit of her belly, consuming all she offers, until at last it is strong enough to reveal itself without dying. A dying smile falls off the edges of her face at last, bleak eyes meeting his.
Letting it take her for but a moment, the girl remembers what he said. What she repeated like clockwork.
It is not a night for sorrows.
Pulling all those fragmented edges near again, bundling them in a cloth so fine, so riddled with holes from all the times she's shoved shards and shattered edges in, they are hidden again. It is not the sadness that leads her back to him, but the curiosity for such a different life. Only grass if you were lucky, not to play in and spend days gazing up at the clouds, but to eat to survive. Never has she lived such a rough life as that. Rumors never even made it to her home. "Do you miss that way of life, or do you prefer to be pampered and privileged as we are here?" Quiet curiosity is becoming, swirling in the depth of her eyes, lending that little pout to her lips that isn't quite what she should be doing, lightening her dark face until it is not bloodied but open instead.
Alas, the question came too late as frosting came her way. The phoenix jerks herself backward with a squeal, feels the smooth, sticky sweet frosting hit along her jaw, smear down her neck. It falls and leaves a travesty in its wake, leaves laughter spewing from her as she shakes her head. Has it hit her hair? "And here I was, thinking you were a gentleman, Asterion. What would my mother say if she saw us."
Chuckling, she moves forward, light as a feather, as smooth as water, until they are face to face and chest to chest. A wry grin to match his own, a bright, burning star that shines just for him, they are a duo of day and night to be contested. "Worse than your wildest imaginations, starboy." Lifting her chin up, exposing her throat, she gives him a pointed look. "You've made quite the mess, what are we to do about it now?"
@Asterion . TuT she can't really flirt.
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