They are combined into a single skin, a single entity that knows only how to feel and let itself be felt. The world watches with silent, searching eyes, seeking to pry them apart. Girl of fire and Girl of sun melded into something more and something magnificent compared to what they were before. The phoenix wonders if this is what it is to be more than yourself, to be something not completely belonging solely to your own soul, and feels as though it might be a betrayal of him.
When she can only feel, only wonder, only exist in a state of contemplation and raw emotion so that bones are lain bare and presented before the golden queen beside her. For Bexley Briar is a queen, a ruler, a woman of flesh and blood and ichor of the gods from these lands. Moira sighs at the touch upon her spine, the breath along her back, and closes her eyes with a soft hum, a gentle acceptance (as she accepts all things in time) of what is and what happens. There is no fear to stain her black, to bury all that she yearns to be, to block the comfort offered so freely from pouring out of her skin like honey where birds and bees and creatures big and small would come to seek out aid.
Moira is simply Moira.
Bexley is simply Bexley.
They are an amalgamation of something beautiful and hurting and wild.
When light meets fire, Moira wonders which would burn more brightly - or if one must burn more brightly at all. Somewhere within, she hopes it need not be a competition.
The ghost of a laugh huffs from between dark lips that turn up at the corners, greeting twinkling eyes with that phoenix smile. “Honesty is a horrible creature,” for in a court such as that which she hails from, it tears you limb from limb. Lies are hidden within truths and brother turns against brother to gain favor. Such horrid things came from those lies - such disgusting acts committed for beliefs that once had been ingrained within every fiber, every cell, every anomaly within the pegasus girl, that now fade like the day, like the fire, like her waning appetite for sweets and treats before them.
If she feels what Bexley feels, perhaps Moira would have turned away. But she is confused and she sees a soul in pain, so she reaches forward when the golden girl’s fiery eyes close. Reaches forward and presses a soulful kiss to each eyelid, to her forehead. Flaxen hair is pushed from her brow with phantom hands, untangled strand by strand slowly, and then wound into braids. Moira does so love braiding hair into styles large and small, complex and simple, come what may it curls back away from her companion’s skin into something more tame, hiding the lion in gold. “You are so amazing, Bexley Briar,” Moira breathes softly into the curve of Bexley’s ear. “Say you’ll stay with me for a while? I’ve missed you, I’ve missed so many, for far too long.”
@Bexley "Speaking" notes: hope this is okay!
When she can only feel, only wonder, only exist in a state of contemplation and raw emotion so that bones are lain bare and presented before the golden queen beside her. For Bexley Briar is a queen, a ruler, a woman of flesh and blood and ichor of the gods from these lands. Moira sighs at the touch upon her spine, the breath along her back, and closes her eyes with a soft hum, a gentle acceptance (as she accepts all things in time) of what is and what happens. There is no fear to stain her black, to bury all that she yearns to be, to block the comfort offered so freely from pouring out of her skin like honey where birds and bees and creatures big and small would come to seek out aid.
Moira is simply Moira.
Bexley is simply Bexley.
They are an amalgamation of something beautiful and hurting and wild.
When light meets fire, Moira wonders which would burn more brightly - or if one must burn more brightly at all. Somewhere within, she hopes it need not be a competition.
The ghost of a laugh huffs from between dark lips that turn up at the corners, greeting twinkling eyes with that phoenix smile. “Honesty is a horrible creature,” for in a court such as that which she hails from, it tears you limb from limb. Lies are hidden within truths and brother turns against brother to gain favor. Such horrid things came from those lies - such disgusting acts committed for beliefs that once had been ingrained within every fiber, every cell, every anomaly within the pegasus girl, that now fade like the day, like the fire, like her waning appetite for sweets and treats before them.
If she feels what Bexley feels, perhaps Moira would have turned away. But she is confused and she sees a soul in pain, so she reaches forward when the golden girl’s fiery eyes close. Reaches forward and presses a soulful kiss to each eyelid, to her forehead. Flaxen hair is pushed from her brow with phantom hands, untangled strand by strand slowly, and then wound into braids. Moira does so love braiding hair into styles large and small, complex and simple, come what may it curls back away from her companion’s skin into something more tame, hiding the lion in gold. “You are so amazing, Bexley Briar,” Moira breathes softly into the curve of Bexley’s ear. “Say you’ll stay with me for a while? I’ve missed you, I’ve missed so many, for far too long.”
