M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Denocte is a beehive, workers dutifully buzzing about their colony to make it presentable, to bring joy and peace and prosperity and love. Each individual put their heart and soul into every nook and cranny of Denocte, and finally when the doors were open others would come flooding in to a world of wonder and beauty. Even the summer heat could not kill the excitement that the phoenix can taste like a firefly on the breeze.
So many faces whirl around the stalls, flit past each carefully set table with scarves and shawls and masks and jewels to find the outfit that would suit them perfectly. A new family, a quaint couple with a child at their breast, finally comes in and honeyed eyes fall on them. The boy is ill - or was - as far as she can tell, and her instinct to help kicks in. For a moment Moira watches, simply watches, from afar as he joins in the merriment, races to tables and screeches to a stop when he finds a mask that looks like the little fox kit that bounds to his back. A smaller mask, a rabbit, is also selected for the boy's companion. When at last he turns, asking his parents, she approaches and picks up the two decorations.
Turning quietly, Moira whispers to her court friend behind the table and kisses their cheek so sweetly. A quick thank you, and then she's by the boy's side, bending ever so slightly to meet his eyes. "You'd make a dashing rogue when you grow up," whispers the healer. And he would, the orange lights up the blue in Regis' eyes, the triangular ears tower beside his horn making it seem all the more imposing, and it is as though the boy is nearly transformed. Careful not to disturb the rabbit mask too much, she hands it over to him. "For your companion, Milo, was it? Welcome," she smiles, "welcome to Denocte! Have you come for the festivities then? I hope you like sweets. I'm Moira, a court caretaker, would you help me pick out a mask?" For she hasn't the slightest clue what she should wear for the masquerade, not yet, and the life that resonates in Regis' breast despite his previous condition that still shows in the hollows of his ribs and shadows of his eyes is enough to draw her closer.
@Regis I'm sorry this is so short ! I couldn't help but crash though.
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Denocte is a beehive, workers dutifully buzzing about their colony to make it presentable, to bring joy and peace and prosperity and love. Each individual put their heart and soul into every nook and cranny of Denocte, and finally when the doors were open others would come flooding in to a world of wonder and beauty. Even the summer heat could not kill the excitement that the phoenix can taste like a firefly on the breeze.
So many faces whirl around the stalls, flit past each carefully set table with scarves and shawls and masks and jewels to find the outfit that would suit them perfectly. A new family, a quaint couple with a child at their breast, finally comes in and honeyed eyes fall on them. The boy is ill - or was - as far as she can tell, and her instinct to help kicks in. For a moment Moira watches, simply watches, from afar as he joins in the merriment, races to tables and screeches to a stop when he finds a mask that looks like the little fox kit that bounds to his back. A smaller mask, a rabbit, is also selected for the boy's companion. When at last he turns, asking his parents, she approaches and picks up the two decorations.
Turning quietly, Moira whispers to her court friend behind the table and kisses their cheek so sweetly. A quick thank you, and then she's by the boy's side, bending ever so slightly to meet his eyes. "You'd make a dashing rogue when you grow up," whispers the healer. And he would, the orange lights up the blue in Regis' eyes, the triangular ears tower beside his horn making it seem all the more imposing, and it is as though the boy is nearly transformed. Careful not to disturb the rabbit mask too much, she hands it over to him. "For your companion, Milo, was it? Welcome," she smiles, "welcome to Denocte! Have you come for the festivities then? I hope you like sweets. I'm Moira, a court caretaker, would you help me pick out a mask?" For she hasn't the slightest clue what she should wear for the masquerade, not yet, and the life that resonates in Regis' breast despite his previous condition that still shows in the hollows of his ribs and shadows of his eyes is enough to draw her closer.
@
