M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Pursed lips meet stubborn eyes as a brow raises, as the woman finally clicks her tongue and shakes her head with a small smile upon her lips. The rage, the pain, all of it is washed from Isra's sweet eyes once more an they begin to dance, to simply glow with life and possibilities and mischief. Like schoolgirls, like crib-mates, they fall against one another as even the walls darken with all the familiarity their worlds have to offer. A streaking creature swoops in, dancing on the air as Moira once danced in towering halls with chandeliers high above that seemed to simply be suspended with nothing. Perhaps it was magic that put together those grand balls, the great debut every season for those who were eligible, the fond memories of insidious chatter and bubbling laughter. Quick as an adder it takes shelter atop Isra, her queen carrying the weight of her companion with all the grace and dignity that is expected of the position.
Humming she watches Isra go, silently letting her know that before the night is through her wound will be tended to one way or another. When there are those who are sick and needing cared for, Moira will not rest until every last one is seen.
Still, temptation nips at her, lingers on her fingertips as she thinks of the stories she's heard, the many places she's read of yet never seen. Caught up on the homeland her mother told her of, the city in the clouds, the phoenix can't quite get the image out of her head. At last she sighs, eyes closed and head tilted up in thought. "There are clouds and birdsong and koi ponds. Cobbled streets line great avenues in the sky that lead off into nothing but mist and mystery. A glass spire is at the center; a beacon, a haven, a home. There is laughter that dances on crystal shops and everyone wears wings or horns or puts on magic like a new set of gloves. Artists line the corners and streets, peddling their silks and sweets alike. No one wears any shame, they do not show their sorrow - only pure, unfiltered joy works as the gravity which holds them all together."
When she comes up for air, the silver balls before her sparkle like the tears upon her cheeks. How long has it been since she last kissed her mother's cheek? Was Gizelle still well or had she fallen so far into a decline that even the pepper-uppers stopped working? Moira smiles through the tears, laughs and looks to the ground, brushes them onto her shoulder as though they mean nothing. "It is the place my mother once called home, a place where only those with wings or magic may enter, a place where an artist might go to find a kindred soul, a place where peace is valued despite the war and disdain for land dwellers who cannot reach their heights. It is where she once was happy," the Pegasus offers as an explanation.
After a breath, two, she paces, turning toward a wall that shivers with color and indecision, watches as it tries to read her and fails. At last it settles on some foggy scene, a pool with twin boys smiling her way, a silver man holding his bag full of tools, a red woman and pale gentleman side by side and somber. Beside them all, coming forward is Estelle. Lightning dances beneath her feet, her smile is broader than any she's seen here in Denocte or all of Novus, and the color of her cheeks as a blushing maiden only go to make Moira laugh and mourn her cousin. Much like the silver woman, Isra calms the Pegasus and pulls her from her reveries, insists she turn to see the wonders freely offered, gifts given from the heart with no strings attached.
So she turns and gasps at the splendors before her.
@Isra better late than never ? c':
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Pursed lips meet stubborn eyes as a brow raises, as the woman finally clicks her tongue and shakes her head with a small smile upon her lips. The rage, the pain, all of it is washed from Isra's sweet eyes once more an they begin to dance, to simply glow with life and possibilities and mischief. Like schoolgirls, like crib-mates, they fall against one another as even the walls darken with all the familiarity their worlds have to offer. A streaking creature swoops in, dancing on the air as Moira once danced in towering halls with chandeliers high above that seemed to simply be suspended with nothing. Perhaps it was magic that put together those grand balls, the great debut every season for those who were eligible, the fond memories of insidious chatter and bubbling laughter. Quick as an adder it takes shelter atop Isra, her queen carrying the weight of her companion with all the grace and dignity that is expected of the position.
Humming she watches Isra go, silently letting her know that before the night is through her wound will be tended to one way or another. When there are those who are sick and needing cared for, Moira will not rest until every last one is seen.
Still, temptation nips at her, lingers on her fingertips as she thinks of the stories she's heard, the many places she's read of yet never seen. Caught up on the homeland her mother told her of, the city in the clouds, the phoenix can't quite get the image out of her head. At last she sighs, eyes closed and head tilted up in thought. "There are clouds and birdsong and koi ponds. Cobbled streets line great avenues in the sky that lead off into nothing but mist and mystery. A glass spire is at the center; a beacon, a haven, a home. There is laughter that dances on crystal shops and everyone wears wings or horns or puts on magic like a new set of gloves. Artists line the corners and streets, peddling their silks and sweets alike. No one wears any shame, they do not show their sorrow - only pure, unfiltered joy works as the gravity which holds them all together."
When she comes up for air, the silver balls before her sparkle like the tears upon her cheeks. How long has it been since she last kissed her mother's cheek? Was Gizelle still well or had she fallen so far into a decline that even the pepper-uppers stopped working? Moira smiles through the tears, laughs and looks to the ground, brushes them onto her shoulder as though they mean nothing. "It is the place my mother once called home, a place where only those with wings or magic may enter, a place where an artist might go to find a kindred soul, a place where peace is valued despite the war and disdain for land dwellers who cannot reach their heights. It is where she once was happy," the Pegasus offers as an explanation.
After a breath, two, she paces, turning toward a wall that shivers with color and indecision, watches as it tries to read her and fails. At last it settles on some foggy scene, a pool with twin boys smiling her way, a silver man holding his bag full of tools, a red woman and pale gentleman side by side and somber. Beside them all, coming forward is Estelle. Lightning dances beneath her feet, her smile is broader than any she's seen here in Denocte or all of Novus, and the color of her cheeks as a blushing maiden only go to make Moira laugh and mourn her cousin. Much like the silver woman, Isra calms the Pegasus and pulls her from her reveries, insists she turn to see the wonders freely offered, gifts given from the heart with no strings attached.
So she turns and gasps at the splendors before her.
@Isra better late than never ? c':
