Isra who has come home
“It is a person. And we are finally home.”
“It is a person. And we are finally home.”
I
sra feels like she has wings, like she is a wind, when she watches Moira come closer. Each of her steps is faster than the last and Isra wants to tell her to fly, fly, fly until the wind belongs to her instead of to the winter. Maybe then they would go to the moon together, as they should always be. Moira collapses into her. Then there is only laughter, weak and ringing like bluebells a summer meadow. Snow moves around them in soft, wild flurries. Fable lifts his wing higher to cover the sisters beneath it. His unicorn is wild with joy, and even though they are close to falling, he knows he will say nothing to stop them. Instead he hums a happy song to see Moira beside them (where she belongs). A tiger flicks a paw at his wing, and his flicks his tail back at the large cat. He's gentle of course, because he does not want to send the tiger flying into the snow.
“You would have been very old and swaybacked if I waited an eternity.” Isra smiles, and laughs, and presses her nose into Moira's wings to smell the spice and night wafting off of them. She sighs for the familiarity of the gesture, of the way everything in her world seems like the axis of it has titled back to north. “I am glad it did not take that long.” Her nose brushes the path from wing, to mane, to cheek. She pauses before pulling away.
“Oh Moira,” Isra tries to swallow the shame growing like a vine in her heart. She tries to look at the eclipse and feel a bit of wonder, and hope again. Anything but shame would be better, because it's sitting like a stone in her chest. It feels like she could drown with it. But it still rises like a tide in her. “What are we going to do?” She's so tired of shame, of feeling like she's too late to stop evil from blooming like oil in the ocean.
Isra is tired and so when she presses her nose into Moira again she closes her eyes. The blood-red moon dies in that darkness.
@Moira | "speaks" | notes: <3
