Swaying in the breeze like the leaves did as they fell during the months of Fall, she lets the snow take her to the fresh pines of the Mountains that are to be replanted so life will flourish once more, lets the crisp air bring back memories of honey and cider and candlelight and novels, lets the scent of burnt wood pull forth choruses of song as bright as day to flood over her. Today it is cold and misty, soft, large snowflakes landing on waterproof wings, singed hair, and long, charcoal lashes that flutter closed on a sigh. Isra pulled from her the story of her home, of all the people the phoenix had burned in the aftermath of storm, and ripped open the wound so freshly sewn shut. Coldness is what she needs to wrap about her, to encapsulate all of those roiling emotions and neatly package them with a bow, to keep the tumultuous interior hidden from all that lives outside of her mind. There are too many people, too many variables.
Life is easier when they are merely patients and portraits.
But here... In Denocte and all of the lands, she seems to have found friends - faces that burn in her retinas even when both eyes are closed. If you ask, she can paint you a portrait of Eik without having to look upon him, she can sketch Caine in the night sky and wonder if he is alright, she can draw Bexley and Serafina and Isra in the sand with berry-blood as her only coloring, and she can sing verse after verse of the dreams that are etched into Asterion's sides until her voice is hoarse and she is unable to continue on. So many variables have come into her life, and all seems too overwhelming. What is she to do with faces that are fond of her in one form another, and worse yet...people she's grown rather fond of as well? The fewer people you care for, the Tonnerre girl learned early on, the less likely you are to get hurt.
Yet her net is cast.
News that Dusk would be joining Denocte due to their own cataclysmic events reaches her late, and the woman cannot help the thrill of excitement despite the sorrow that runs through her. That means that Asterion will be within the walls, likely already is.
His voice is as unexpected as the clear patches of sky in the distance. Washing over her like a blessing, like a prayer she did not know she needed, like a light and warmth only he could bring, Asterion materializes out of the snow itself. Perhaps, she muses with a wry grin, this is a winter wonderland after all. With a single wing arching (the other safely bandaged against her side), Moira smiles that sweet smile, reserved only for those who know her better than the rest. "If I were younger, I would think this was a dream," and it is a shy greeting that draws ehr nearer, eyes quickly moving over his body to be sure that the man is whole and unharmed from whatever may have happened in Terrastella. "Asterion, it's good to see you." Gently she reaches around, curling him into a hug just to feel the warmth of his skin and hear the beating of his heart. This is real, she thinks, repeats like a mantra, forces herself to believe that it is not but a silly girl's whimsical dream showing her something that will not be.
@Asterion (I'm so happy they get to meet again omg !!!! ;u;)
Life is easier when they are merely patients and portraits.
But here... In Denocte and all of the lands, she seems to have found friends - faces that burn in her retinas even when both eyes are closed. If you ask, she can paint you a portrait of Eik without having to look upon him, she can sketch Caine in the night sky and wonder if he is alright, she can draw Bexley and Serafina and Isra in the sand with berry-blood as her only coloring, and she can sing verse after verse of the dreams that are etched into Asterion's sides until her voice is hoarse and she is unable to continue on. So many variables have come into her life, and all seems too overwhelming. What is she to do with faces that are fond of her in one form another, and worse yet...people she's grown rather fond of as well? The fewer people you care for, the Tonnerre girl learned early on, the less likely you are to get hurt.
Yet her net is cast.
News that Dusk would be joining Denocte due to their own cataclysmic events reaches her late, and the woman cannot help the thrill of excitement despite the sorrow that runs through her. That means that Asterion will be within the walls, likely already is.
His voice is as unexpected as the clear patches of sky in the distance. Washing over her like a blessing, like a prayer she did not know she needed, like a light and warmth only he could bring, Asterion materializes out of the snow itself. Perhaps, she muses with a wry grin, this is a winter wonderland after all. With a single wing arching (the other safely bandaged against her side), Moira smiles that sweet smile, reserved only for those who know her better than the rest. "If I were younger, I would think this was a dream," and it is a shy greeting that draws ehr nearer, eyes quickly moving over his body to be sure that the man is whole and unharmed from whatever may have happened in Terrastella. "Asterion, it's good to see you." Gently she reaches around, curling him into a hug just to feel the warmth of his skin and hear the beating of his heart. This is real, she thinks, repeats like a mantra, forces herself to believe that it is not but a silly girl's whimsical dream showing her something that will not be.
@Asterion (I'm so happy they get to meet again omg !!!! ;u;)
