M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Choking, how she coughs on the sentence that Isra utters, unknowing of the horrors hidden within glistening halls, kept behind doorways and tucked in crevices so none would ever see the rot that's crawled within. Instead, large, distant eyes turn to meet the soft, welcoming gaze of a woman (not a queen, not in that moment) who is there to listen to her story as it unfolds.
How the phoenix' body burns and her wings ache and her heart tears in two. Loyalty to a home she never truly hated, but knew to be rotten now that she's been shown love, wars within her raging heart, burns the shadows that sink their claws in once more. Ice coats her voice when she turns, when she shakes her head, when the words so different from those moments ago flit out at last. "I would never show you a place so cruel." For it was a monstrosity of an estate. Not a home but a prison, a gilded cage to refine its beasts until they can speak as people do and parrot phrases so that none may see their claws, taste their fangs, or feel their poison deep in their blood. Like an apple, ruined at its core, she knows now that she should not have suffered so greatly and been left so scarred. But she is lucky, for others have had worse.
Her throat tightens, but her eyes do not burn with that anger and those tears that shredded Caine in the library, rendering his soul into more fragments than it already was. "Tonight is not a night for more horrors though, I'll tell you what I will paint, Isra." And she smiles, wings arching behind their pillows, fresh air funneling in with bitterness and biting cold, only to be smothered as she lowers those things she fears yet holds a growing curiosity towards over their intertwined bodies once more. They are like a snake den, woven together until the ending of one is the beginning of the other, until they are not two but one, until their hearts beat the same beat and their breaths soar into the air on the same exhale, the same inhale. But their poison is sweeter than honey, the magic in their eyes, the stories in their skin, the secrets on their lips a potent toxin that even Hercules would have died for, that Achilles would have waged war for, that Odysseus would have crashed his boats into the cliffside just to try and climb to reach. Ephemeral and ethereal, they will be there and gone so quickly that their lives will seem but the blink of an eye, but for now...
Moira smiles.
"I will paint you their sunrises and the city of Kilo from whence my mother came. I will show you Eluoan and the twins and my sweet, sweet Estelle. I will paint Denocte in the colors of my family and then build a rainbow for their dreams to take flight. For you, Isra, I will show you the world I wished I was truly a part of, and that which I now know holds the deepest parts of my heart and soul. The Estate was as wonderful as it was horrible, as enlightening as it was imprisoning, and I never would have come here had I not first been there. Even in a court of nightmares, dreams are born. But you, you my sweet Isra, have shown me how to dream again. So for this, for you, I will paint Denocte with the story of a house that was not a home and perhaps someday you will know of the nightmares that are born and the monsters that are made. We are flesh and bone and terrors in the Tonnerre clan that I cannot ever come to fully explain." How is it that her throat is not soar even though it is raw? How is it that her voice is still there despite how it cracks and the hoarseness it shows? Admiration dawns anew for the woman before her, beside her, who comforts their court with stories instead of battles, with love instead of frigidity. She pulls the stars from the heavens to put in their eyes, and to her Moira silently vows that she will take care of this court so long as it shall deserve that.
Too long. A silence stretches but it is not uncomfortable. There is no longer a drumming in her heart to spill tales of that far off land and those people who are not here. Of boys who wished to steal kisses and girls who did not conform to the standard quo and were shunned for it. Perhaps that ghost would rest for now, rest like the children who would no longer wake in Denocte, like the sea that pulled far from the shore and the birds in the sky that did not cry out and bring lightning to their doorstep just then. And so the phoenix tucks her head under the unicorn's, seeking comfort and warmth that was denied to her for so long, seeking friendship and trust and the frail, fluttering hope that beat within her breast. "I'm happy I found you. Thank you, Isra," she whispers, eyes drooping as though the energy has been sucked from her at last. They were up through the night, through the first breaths of dawn that now reaches her fingers through the stained glass above to play with dust motes and darkness alike. Colors rain down upon the two, painting their faces in shades of green and blue and gold, a new likeness of a goddess and magic of the world birthed in those silent moments that follow. A story ended, perhaps, but another was just about to begin once more.
@Isra ovo this took way too long. here we are though !
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Choking, how she coughs on the sentence that Isra utters, unknowing of the horrors hidden within glistening halls, kept behind doorways and tucked in crevices so none would ever see the rot that's crawled within. Instead, large, distant eyes turn to meet the soft, welcoming gaze of a woman (not a queen, not in that moment) who is there to listen to her story as it unfolds.
How the phoenix' body burns and her wings ache and her heart tears in two. Loyalty to a home she never truly hated, but knew to be rotten now that she's been shown love, wars within her raging heart, burns the shadows that sink their claws in once more. Ice coats her voice when she turns, when she shakes her head, when the words so different from those moments ago flit out at last. "I would never show you a place so cruel." For it was a monstrosity of an estate. Not a home but a prison, a gilded cage to refine its beasts until they can speak as people do and parrot phrases so that none may see their claws, taste their fangs, or feel their poison deep in their blood. Like an apple, ruined at its core, she knows now that she should not have suffered so greatly and been left so scarred. But she is lucky, for others have had worse.
Her throat tightens, but her eyes do not burn with that anger and those tears that shredded Caine in the library, rendering his soul into more fragments than it already was. "Tonight is not a night for more horrors though, I'll tell you what I will paint, Isra." And she smiles, wings arching behind their pillows, fresh air funneling in with bitterness and biting cold, only to be smothered as she lowers those things she fears yet holds a growing curiosity towards over their intertwined bodies once more. They are like a snake den, woven together until the ending of one is the beginning of the other, until they are not two but one, until their hearts beat the same beat and their breaths soar into the air on the same exhale, the same inhale. But their poison is sweeter than honey, the magic in their eyes, the stories in their skin, the secrets on their lips a potent toxin that even Hercules would have died for, that Achilles would have waged war for, that Odysseus would have crashed his boats into the cliffside just to try and climb to reach. Ephemeral and ethereal, they will be there and gone so quickly that their lives will seem but the blink of an eye, but for now...
Moira smiles.
"I will paint you their sunrises and the city of Kilo from whence my mother came. I will show you Eluoan and the twins and my sweet, sweet Estelle. I will paint Denocte in the colors of my family and then build a rainbow for their dreams to take flight. For you, Isra, I will show you the world I wished I was truly a part of, and that which I now know holds the deepest parts of my heart and soul. The Estate was as wonderful as it was horrible, as enlightening as it was imprisoning, and I never would have come here had I not first been there. Even in a court of nightmares, dreams are born. But you, you my sweet Isra, have shown me how to dream again. So for this, for you, I will paint Denocte with the story of a house that was not a home and perhaps someday you will know of the nightmares that are born and the monsters that are made. We are flesh and bone and terrors in the Tonnerre clan that I cannot ever come to fully explain." How is it that her throat is not soar even though it is raw? How is it that her voice is still there despite how it cracks and the hoarseness it shows? Admiration dawns anew for the woman before her, beside her, who comforts their court with stories instead of battles, with love instead of frigidity. She pulls the stars from the heavens to put in their eyes, and to her Moira silently vows that she will take care of this court so long as it shall deserve that.
Too long. A silence stretches but it is not uncomfortable. There is no longer a drumming in her heart to spill tales of that far off land and those people who are not here. Of boys who wished to steal kisses and girls who did not conform to the standard quo and were shunned for it. Perhaps that ghost would rest for now, rest like the children who would no longer wake in Denocte, like the sea that pulled far from the shore and the birds in the sky that did not cry out and bring lightning to their doorstep just then. And so the phoenix tucks her head under the unicorn's, seeking comfort and warmth that was denied to her for so long, seeking friendship and trust and the frail, fluttering hope that beat within her breast. "I'm happy I found you. Thank you, Isra," she whispers, eyes drooping as though the energy has been sucked from her at last. They were up through the night, through the first breaths of dawn that now reaches her fingers through the stained glass above to play with dust motes and darkness alike. Colors rain down upon the two, painting their faces in shades of green and blue and gold, a new likeness of a goddess and magic of the world birthed in those silent moments that follow. A story ended, perhaps, but another was just about to begin once more.
@Isra ovo this took way too long. here we are though !
