M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
"Something has to make me soft when the world demands we be so hard," Moira says, lazily rolling her eyes and smirking, thoughts stuck on the way his lips brushed back her hair. Both honeyed mirrors were wide then as he pulled away - no one had done that for her. She cannot remember a moment when anyone but her mother had touched her hair, fingers deftly pulling it into a tight braid or up in pins and curls to keep it out of her face, to show off her cheekbones and lashes. Even the twins did not brush her hair. Even Estelle had not pampered her in that way - so tenderly as though they could have been lovers. It's so foreign and shocking, but she did not push him away. Silence met him with those wide eyes, and then they continued on past it like ships in the night.
It probably meant nothing to him anyway...
He is an anchor in a storm, drawing out the brightness in her, the velvet surfaces left untouched for ages, curtains drawn over large, gothic windows where no light and no dust touched. Asterion pulls those curtains down, demands light reach every bit of her shattered soul, sings to the darkness and loneliness that bites at her heels every day. She cannot help but feel close to this man who was her friend long before he was a monarch. Ah, but like the great monarch butterfly he is charming and meant for beautiful things in life. When all else falls, she knows he will not. Withstanding, a lighthouse beckoning her forth, Asterion cannot help but shine even when he does not know he does so.
It is a comfort.
When the wind brushes her wings that are still pressed so tightly against her sides, when she cannot feel him beside her as ghosts in the snow begin to take form, when only his voice is left to tie her back down to the world she might float away from... only then does she pause, only then does she turn.
Warmth whispers against her ribs, a blush spreads over already dark cheeks, golden eyes glance to his lips, to the smile he wears so easily. "You're beautiful," she breathes, words as soft as the snow melting down his nose, unable to hold it in. And he is - resplendent in this dreamlike world meant just for them. Asterion takes her breath away.
The phoenix huffs a laugh then, tension curling in the sway of her hips, shoulders drawing closer, wings clutching tighter. Are there lines she's crossing? Should she toe them or touch them with a pole and stay away wholly? But to avoid such a storm he offers, such a taste of life; to withhold herself from the chance to taste starlight, to love satin and silk and swallow pomegranate seeds not yet offered... She should be stronger.
Between them, she does not try to bridge the gap again, to feel darkness meet her sunset skin. (But how she yearns for his starlight touch - what if...what...if.
"The kitchens are in the keep. And the spring... We did not have an ocean at our backdoor, but there are pools longer than the eye can see stretching through the gardens. Many families had a maze, and the Tonnerres were no different. Gardenias and lilies and chrysanthemums were plentiful along the hedges and in the beds. There were sections devoted purely to my herbs and Eluoan's. He...he taught me of my practice in those fields and in the silent halls. But the spring at the Tonnerre Estate was a time for celebration." Perhaps there is a note of longing, of that echoing loneliness that finds her in the night, on the edges of her sultry voice. She's slips into the past, passing so easily from time frame to time frame as though she's still there, walking the halls, dancing in the ballroom, dreaming under the daisies. Her heart thunders at the memories - the bittersweet goodbye she left all she'd loved before with.
While she walks a path she knows by heart, she does not know if he follows or leads or is simply by her side (where she would have preferred him if she were not so uncertain). "Estelle would take me there to paint her portrait by the waters. The twins used to throw her in just to see how she would screech. There was a ball, a debut for all who were coming of age. The party would last for a week with courting and dancing and walks under the moon... My mother was proud when they let me walk along the balconies, stand center stage to be presented... I loved the chocolates the most, I think. Estelle said it was sweeter from someone's lips, but I don't quite believe her. She lives in a world built of roses and dreams... It's so easy to get lost when she's around, so easy to lose your inhibitions. She makes me feel alive. My sweet Estelle is the better half of me - all that I will never be. Perhaps you'd like her... I think you'd like the gardens and the pools the most though. The storms and squalls always bring such a wonderful taste to the air. I used to sit by the garden pools for hours and let it fall down on me and memorize my lists. I felt freer then, it was easier when no one was watching because you did not have to worry of prying eyes or judgement..."
Stopping, realizing she's talked so much and that they are nearly to the doors of the Keep, she gives him a rather self-conscious smile. How, she wonders, has she come from being unable to utter a word of that place to this? It's easier to talk to him than it is most of her court, and for that she worries more. "We should go in, get out of the cold."
@Asterion
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
"Something has to make me soft when the world demands we be so hard," Moira says, lazily rolling her eyes and smirking, thoughts stuck on the way his lips brushed back her hair. Both honeyed mirrors were wide then as he pulled away - no one had done that for her. She cannot remember a moment when anyone but her mother had touched her hair, fingers deftly pulling it into a tight braid or up in pins and curls to keep it out of her face, to show off her cheekbones and lashes. Even the twins did not brush her hair. Even Estelle had not pampered her in that way - so tenderly as though they could have been lovers. It's so foreign and shocking, but she did not push him away. Silence met him with those wide eyes, and then they continued on past it like ships in the night.
It probably meant nothing to him anyway...
He is an anchor in a storm, drawing out the brightness in her, the velvet surfaces left untouched for ages, curtains drawn over large, gothic windows where no light and no dust touched. Asterion pulls those curtains down, demands light reach every bit of her shattered soul, sings to the darkness and loneliness that bites at her heels every day. She cannot help but feel close to this man who was her friend long before he was a monarch. Ah, but like the great monarch butterfly he is charming and meant for beautiful things in life. When all else falls, she knows he will not. Withstanding, a lighthouse beckoning her forth, Asterion cannot help but shine even when he does not know he does so.
It is a comfort.
When the wind brushes her wings that are still pressed so tightly against her sides, when she cannot feel him beside her as ghosts in the snow begin to take form, when only his voice is left to tie her back down to the world she might float away from... only then does she pause, only then does she turn.
Warmth whispers against her ribs, a blush spreads over already dark cheeks, golden eyes glance to his lips, to the smile he wears so easily. "You're beautiful," she breathes, words as soft as the snow melting down his nose, unable to hold it in. And he is - resplendent in this dreamlike world meant just for them. Asterion takes her breath away.
The phoenix huffs a laugh then, tension curling in the sway of her hips, shoulders drawing closer, wings clutching tighter. Are there lines she's crossing? Should she toe them or touch them with a pole and stay away wholly? But to avoid such a storm he offers, such a taste of life; to withhold herself from the chance to taste starlight, to love satin and silk and swallow pomegranate seeds not yet offered... She should be stronger.
Between them, she does not try to bridge the gap again, to feel darkness meet her sunset skin. (But how she yearns for his starlight touch - what if...what...if.
"The kitchens are in the keep. And the spring... We did not have an ocean at our backdoor, but there are pools longer than the eye can see stretching through the gardens. Many families had a maze, and the Tonnerres were no different. Gardenias and lilies and chrysanthemums were plentiful along the hedges and in the beds. There were sections devoted purely to my herbs and Eluoan's. He...he taught me of my practice in those fields and in the silent halls. But the spring at the Tonnerre Estate was a time for celebration." Perhaps there is a note of longing, of that echoing loneliness that finds her in the night, on the edges of her sultry voice. She's slips into the past, passing so easily from time frame to time frame as though she's still there, walking the halls, dancing in the ballroom, dreaming under the daisies. Her heart thunders at the memories - the bittersweet goodbye she left all she'd loved before with.
While she walks a path she knows by heart, she does not know if he follows or leads or is simply by her side (where she would have preferred him if she were not so uncertain). "Estelle would take me there to paint her portrait by the waters. The twins used to throw her in just to see how she would screech. There was a ball, a debut for all who were coming of age. The party would last for a week with courting and dancing and walks under the moon... My mother was proud when they let me walk along the balconies, stand center stage to be presented... I loved the chocolates the most, I think. Estelle said it was sweeter from someone's lips, but I don't quite believe her. She lives in a world built of roses and dreams... It's so easy to get lost when she's around, so easy to lose your inhibitions. She makes me feel alive. My sweet Estelle is the better half of me - all that I will never be. Perhaps you'd like her... I think you'd like the gardens and the pools the most though. The storms and squalls always bring such a wonderful taste to the air. I used to sit by the garden pools for hours and let it fall down on me and memorize my lists. I felt freer then, it was easier when no one was watching because you did not have to worry of prying eyes or judgement..."
Stopping, realizing she's talked so much and that they are nearly to the doors of the Keep, she gives him a rather self-conscious smile. How, she wonders, has she come from being unable to utter a word of that place to this? It's easier to talk to him than it is most of her court, and for that she worries more. "We should go in, get out of the cold."
@Asterion
