m o i r a
Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead,
An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid.
An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid.
S
he hums beside him her agreement, her contentment, and finds herself almost relaxing near the stranger who could be a friend. Words from shared letters sent back and forth as not-quite-lovers, but friends divided by a plague by the name of Raum and a continent, echo in her mind. Seeking advice, sending warm thoughts and and affections despite never having seen the other’s face. Now that she has, Moira knows she’s seen a kind soul, near perfection given flesh, the spirit of unity and serenity combined into the ethereal form of Ipomoea as he lives and breathes before her, beside her. Mentions of Denocte fall from him like flower petals through the sky, like the waves lapping at their feet, and she cannot help the smile, the burst of pride and love within her flaming and pale chest. Honey and amber eyes look to the dancing wind over waves, feel the song of the sea like the ancient song in her chest, and for a moment she knows the depths of Asterion and why he always returns to the water. “She is a world full of secrets and splendors, it would take a million lifetimes to unwrap and unravel all Denocte has to offer a person, let alone their soul.” Like a sinner at confessional, hers is a voice that is breathless and whispered, afraid that others would overhear and come to plunder that which she’s come to love. From birth to arrival to the time spent in the world of Night and Beauty, Moira’s heart has splintered so many times, slivers burying themselves into the cavities and breasts of others that are not herself. They carry bits and pieces of the phoenix as living memories which pulse in time with their own heartbeat.
Questions and answers continue, flowing endlessly, unforced and not entirely unwelcome. Before him, the pegasus is laughing, is smiling, is sighing like a girl twirling hair about long, pale fingers and grinning gaily at that which gives her attention. Petals unfurl before his sunlight, and Moira finds herself nodding along, agreeing with more than just the physical, her blood singing out that same song of adventure.
"The island is teeming with possibilities undiscovered, it sings a song I wish to learn. Neerja feels on edge and at peace - jungles are her home, but such creatures as we’ve known here make her uneasy. I come for my people and to know that which is old and new.” Pausing, the phoenix casts a contemplative glance at her beautiful, flower wreathed companion. "“Between you and I, Ipomoea, I came in hopes of seeing a man I only just learned I loved so deeply. There is time yet, and I hope it will happen before we all leave.” Such longing fills her voice, an endless, depthless void that can be filled with but one thing. Somewhere in the leaves is a man staring at green, and she wonders if he will think of her red and flaming skin, of her bleeding heart that is lain before his feet as an offering, a sacrifice. She is but a lamb ready to be slaughtered in the war that is known as Love.
@Ipomoea | "speaks" | notes: she admits it at last to a most unexpected gentleman <3
