[PT] handmade heaven

[Sabine]

If Moira was burning, Sabine could not tell. 

She sees a sunflower tilting its head toward the sky. She sees a star biting between the clouds; blinding and blistering and brilliant. There is fire within her eyes, but it belongs to the woman - it is a blade forged in the fires of redemption. A bugle laments over them in the far-off rumble of thunder but they do not tremble, they do not flinch. Sabine feels her bones made strong in the shadow of a woman born from a handmade pyre. The ivory of her skeleton begins to scream of war and loss and fucking white-magma grief; she wants to rip her skin down like wallpaper so that the metal of her blood could taste the night air - it had hidden so long behind her fear and sinew. 

And when Moira's tale weaves into the space between them, Sabine knows she is not quite there. Her heart throbs behind those brittle-bright eyes but her mind has drifted too high to hear the red in Moira's song. She is seeing gold and blood pouring from Acton's throat and her father staring at her the way a wolf would stare at a wounded calf. She wants the ground to swallow her whole, even with the new strength in the osseous matter keeping her flesh from sagging to the ground; for what use is bravery if you cannot stop the bad? 

It is only when Moira utters her final words, that Sabine feels her feet touch the cool earth once more. 

"If ever you are in need, look to the stars and the setting sun and I will find you."

The soft girl breathes, for what feels like the first time in months, because she knew, perhaps at last, she was not alone. 

"Thank you, Miss Moira." It is all she can manage, it is all she can bear. 

In the blink of an eye, she disappears into the dark. 


ooc: @Moira