I will not ask you where you came from
I will not ask, and neither should you
The crowd grows, pouring like moonlight into the chamber. Michael has to fight the urge to back away and stroll off to some distant peak where he is alone and where he does not feel the walls closing in on him like icy hands with bony fingers, squeezing his bones until they're dust. Michael feels slightly dizzy. Michael holds his breath without knowing it. Things do not get better from here.
Moira is too somber, and Michael doesn't need to know her to see this. The firm frown on his face deepens, coupled with furrowing brows that aren't visible under that messy forelock. Still he frowns.
Everyone is asking, where is Isra? And Michael echoes this, privately and to himself. Probably, he would have felt more comfortable searching the crowd and finding more than just Pan that he recognized. But the queen is not here, even after the worried mumbling has died down, even as Moira inhales to speak.
He realizes almost exactly as Moira says it. There is death and fear here. There is death and fear everywhere, right now. And their queen--his queen--is taken away in the dead of night. Michael stares at Moira, fixed and focused on his breathing. He has not had to contemplate chaos in... what, decades, probably? He has not gone to war since... well, since.
His gaze is steady. His expression lifts into a grim but determined one. So, of course, Michael will fight for his queen. Michael would never do anything but. He takes a step forward, dips his head, and says to the phoenix and her worried crowd, "I will, gladly."
Moira is too somber, and Michael doesn't need to know her to see this. The firm frown on his face deepens, coupled with furrowing brows that aren't visible under that messy forelock. Still he frowns.
Everyone is asking, where is Isra? And Michael echoes this, privately and to himself. Probably, he would have felt more comfortable searching the crowd and finding more than just Pan that he recognized. But the queen is not here, even after the worried mumbling has died down, even as Moira inhales to speak.
He realizes almost exactly as Moira says it. There is death and fear here. There is death and fear everywhere, right now. And their queen--his queen--is taken away in the dead of night. Michael stares at Moira, fixed and focused on his breathing. He has not had to contemplate chaos in... what, decades, probably? He has not gone to war since... well, since.
His gaze is steady. His expression lifts into a grim but determined one. So, of course, Michael will fight for his queen. Michael would never do anything but. He takes a step forward, dips his head, and says to the phoenix and her worried crowd, "I will, gladly."
