m o i r a
O Love, O thou that, for my fealty,
Only in torment dost thy power employ
Only in torment dost thy power employ
'O
ne by one, something wicked this way comes,’ hisses into crimson mind, slithers smoothly down dark and light corridors until it finds the place that Moira’s consciousness rests. Inner gold eyes turn to find the orange jungle cat there, staring at her, reminding her that she holds the stars in the sky for the tiger. Merci, ma cheri. A mental caress travels between the two, and a small purr from the shadows leaks into the world. To many, the island could merely be pleased.
To the phoenix, it is a warmth like no other can provide that pervades her spirit. Honeyed eyes blink as dark fish dart away, water-whiskers the last to disappear into the depths once more while the body beside her own turns to look.
Briefly, the phoenix wonders what she will see. Kin of her kin? An Arabian woman clad in red (dressed for sinning)? Or a stranger and a threat to something she seeks?
The Regent of Denocte hums softly to herself, lowering her head to the reflecting pool’s surface, drinking deeply of its cool embrace.
When she’s had her fill, she rises once more and turns fully to meet the woman chest-to-chest.
Dark lips do not smile or frown, they rest easily in subtle indifference. Only a brow raises in question. "It’s beautiful here, wouldn’t you agree?” and she inclines her head, chin tilting low enough in greeting. "I think you fit nicely in the scene - you are exotic and dark. You’d make for a wonderful portrait painting,” softly she eases into a conversation, coaxing words from Sloane like water from the mouth of a drowning man.
And she is not afraid as she advances a step, staring at the silver that lines curved hips, follows short back, traces red strands in dark hair. Unsettling eyes meet unsettling eyes: gold within black within black fearlessly smiling into slitted grey pools.
@Sloane | "speaks" | notes: ovo moira would like to paint sloane and also figure out why she's staring so much.
