Moira Tonnerre
i will burn and burn and burn again, and you will come home safely
The world cried when Isra lied and said she would return. Ancestors that walk among the stars hissed as their Tonnerre child was told and untruth and then shattered when the thief took her sister-kin. And how Moira Tonnerre burned then, burned like the phoenix she resembled so, burned like a star exploding, burned and was born and forged again until she was ready for war and retribution.
But it was to protect Denocte as Moira has done the long days since Isra had left. Not even the sea witnessed the tears that fell and simmered from the phoenix' eyes in the dead of night where only orange and black and white fur comforted her with the rasping kiss of a tiger and soft humming of the jungle. Now, those tears are gone: dried and burned away as a light broke through the eternal darkness stretching within. It faded like the sun at the end of the day, it retreated as pillars of purifying white were erected within, as that darkness was expunged bit by bit. Only traces are left in the nooks and crannies, only shadows are left to flicker weakly along the edges.
She is a pyre, she is hope.
It is hope that sings in her blood, weeps in the smile and anguish on her face as she darts over the ground faster than even Neerja. On her tail the tiger trails, feeling the elation that floats higher and higher, screams and rejoices louder and louder, the melody that is as endless as time playing as birdsong and jungle heat between them.
Her cub is happy, and she knows no danger will come.
Lighter than the clouds, she is weightless until she crashes into Isra, slowing only enough so that they won't go tumbling into the remnants of snow Fable has left on the ground. Dragons do not scare her as they should have, for she remembers the sweet, small sea dragon that wound about them as a blessing when they claimed each other as their own.
That was before Neerja. Before the tigress that growls playfully up to Fable and swats snow at his wing.
Howling about them, the wind echoes every emotion since their parting. But the phoenix has learned to speak even when words do not wish to come. "I'd wait until eternity claims me for your return, Isra," the unicorn's name is a prayer said in smoke. "Have you come home to me at last?"
But it was to protect Denocte as Moira has done the long days since Isra had left. Not even the sea witnessed the tears that fell and simmered from the phoenix' eyes in the dead of night where only orange and black and white fur comforted her with the rasping kiss of a tiger and soft humming of the jungle. Now, those tears are gone: dried and burned away as a light broke through the eternal darkness stretching within. It faded like the sun at the end of the day, it retreated as pillars of purifying white were erected within, as that darkness was expunged bit by bit. Only traces are left in the nooks and crannies, only shadows are left to flicker weakly along the edges.
She is a pyre, she is hope.
It is hope that sings in her blood, weeps in the smile and anguish on her face as she darts over the ground faster than even Neerja. On her tail the tiger trails, feeling the elation that floats higher and higher, screams and rejoices louder and louder, the melody that is as endless as time playing as birdsong and jungle heat between them.
Her cub is happy, and she knows no danger will come.
Lighter than the clouds, she is weightless until she crashes into Isra, slowing only enough so that they won't go tumbling into the remnants of snow Fable has left on the ground. Dragons do not scare her as they should have, for she remembers the sweet, small sea dragon that wound about them as a blessing when they claimed each other as their own.
That was before Neerja. Before the tigress that growls playfully up to Fable and swats snow at his wing.
Howling about them, the wind echoes every emotion since their parting. But the phoenix has learned to speak even when words do not wish to come. "I'd wait until eternity claims me for your return, Isra," the unicorn's name is a prayer said in smoke. "Have you come home to me at last?"
@Isra| "moira" "neerja" | notes: shorter than intended, i hope it's ok!
