Moira - - what gentle stars light my way to-night ?
He is the breathless rush of wonder in her lungs as she peeks over the rim of her teacup, large doe-eyes moving quickly over every inch of him. From sweeping cheeks to deep-set eyes coated in hope and sorrow and something more she's yet to taste to the smile and bitterness that settles at last like that first cup of coffee in the morning as his last words rush out to greet her. Oh! How they sting, how blood empties from her cheeks and she folds herself prettily into the woodwork beneath them. So bold she is in her work, fearless despite the consequences that come to take her patients away. How confident she is then, with a sewing needle and simple thread to stitch lives back together and mend broken hearts. Patience drips off of her as a summer rain when she brews up tea to calm the nerves, a tonic to settle the belly, an ointment to ease cramps and pregnancy pains. That face is a far cry from the doctor that sits beside him now; merely a bashful woman untrained in the art of flesh and flirtation, unable to meet those eyes that seek hers out, unable to rise to the occasion as her voice catches in her throat. Should he accuse her of hiding then when it is exactly what she does in that secluded, lovely library of hers? But reasons, his reasons, they're all wrong! At last a nervous laugh flits out between starlit lips, smoky words as enticing as the stew boiling just behind them on the stovetop for at least a hundred head that night. She shakes her head, curls bouncing, and at last puts the cup back on the saucer to turn to her faithful companion. "A physician's responsibility is the lives around them, I would hope they could trust me to perform my duty as best I may. I am glad that Denocte has welcomed me so fully into their fold, secretive and mysterious as us mountain dwellers may be." Winking, Moira pauses to think on his last words. They've yet to be addressed, but it's so vital that she does. Pale are her cheeks, though the hint of something darker, something far lonelier and distant than even the three mountains in the distance crowned in stars that seem impossible to climb, rests on the corner of her carmine mouth. Honeyed gaze drifts into the pattern of leaves at the bottom of her cup. "You flatter me far too much with your kind words," but a whisper of breath, a soft exhalation her first response. Oh, but the silence between them grows larger as caverns below, her heartbeat an ever-present thrum within her ears, and her stomach in her throat. Moira Tonnerre is not one to choke on words as she does now. "What suitors, Asterion? None wish to love a recluse, a woman married to her work and the people she's claimed - what kind of home and hearth could she offer?" What can I offer? her eyes seem to plead when they meet his at last. There, in that she reveals her vulnerability, her insecurities lain bare upon the wooden table they sup at this eve. "It is a place of learning and contemplation. Denocte has given much to me, I can only hope to return its kindness in full. But what of you - how many pretty girls do you get to walk along the seaside with at night? The water must be as heavenly as their moonlit songs. My cousin loved being in love and being loved, but it was all a game to her. I don't think I could juggle so many hands grabbing for my plate." Reassuring, at last she reaches out to carefully press her lips to his shoulder. An apology, perhaps, for how cold she seems on the subject. The thought of another after her hand makes her balk, makes her want to laugh were it not for the solemnity upon his brow. Were it not for the threat to her isolation that keeps her heart so whole and intact. |
