all that she looks on is made pleasanter;
Tensions mount with the blood pressure of her companion, anger tinging the air and atmosphere about them. The Emissary can feel it, can feel it just like the pulsating beat of her heart, the thundering jungle-song of her soul, the endless darkness that has become her home. And oh, how it stares back at her from the eyes of many, how it challenges her like the rising tides in a man of stardust and storms.
Brows quirk up when smoky voice is heard, when the flash of silver inside a hood is like a blast from the past. Lips follow suit, and the red girl’s head dips down in recognition.
Her heart swells at last, a new song bursting forth of hope and happiness. How unfair it was for the woman she’d met so long ago to have been dead! But perhaps she is hiding for a reason. Perhaps it is the same reason that Asterion, her sea-studded king, is also on the island. With that realization of this, golden eyes flit ot the grounds.
From the shadows, the tigress feels resounding joy crowing from her phoenix, her strange cub coming alive like she had not been in so long. Months had passed in a fit of depression, but now? Now she glows, the air vibrates about her with the energy she holds back. A dam that blocks a torrent of pressure, day by day it’s being chipped at, and soon it will fall down, down, down.
Soon, nothing will stop the woman in red from finding all she wishes.
"I’ve found many things on this island - trees have eyes and lovers spew lies.” Words fall as water, as silk, drip from her tongue as a sonnet, a poem. They are midnight smoke as Moira Tonnerre has always been, remnants of a life almost lived, a dream almost born but dying before ever drawing breath. Knowing eyes, wise eyes too old for her youthful face, drape easily over the cackling companion and old almost friend.
Once, they might have been close. How the Tonnerre’s heart aches!
"Morrighan,” she intones with only a minute amount of force entering in. Dark hair swishes in her face, bangs falling to cover golden eyes encased in black. When the wind blows it away, there is only stones and warnings and flames. "People may wear clothes if they wish - one day I’ll don a gown of glass and light. Would you take issue with this? Patience is a virtue, and you’d do well to remember that in times of anger.”
The phoenix is not a mother, but her court is her priority - Seraphina or no - and the way they present themselves in the world is a reflection of the court as a whole. Tempers flaring and demands being made only put poison in another’s mouth when they think of Denocte, and she does not wish them all to think so ill of their little jewel of the sea. "Need we stick our nose in everyone’s problems? What claim do you or I have on this island to demand the identity of every ghost that walks?” Brows raise higher, head tilts, and a threatening roar comes from the trees behind the duo. ”I hope you’ve both been well on this strange land that juts from our oceans, unknown and unseen for how long?”
