birds born in cages
think freedom is a crime
think freedom is a crime
Like the fog, she comes; like the creeping dark, she comes; like the swell of the sea beating against her frigid and shattered soul, she comes. She is a whisper on the land, a frozen flame still glowing, still burning, still splintering piece by piece. Michael's is the only voice that beckons her in that sea of darkness now; his voice rising on a soft crescendo then fading like the dusk into whispers where only shadows are left to dwell.
The Light Caller looks to him, looks to him and wonders what seas he's swam through to be where he is. But it does not matter, not right now. They are not seas that are here, they are not stories she is ready to ask for, so she turns away with the flick of her ear.
It does not matter, she tries to tell herself.
Moira does not notice when Michael is lost to the fog, does not seem to care the way it tries to force itself down her throat and suffocate her in a world that is not her own. This cotton-clad land is not her tomb, she will be no sacrifice upon the alter for a pagan creature dwelling in the mists. Not even the shadows can reach out and touch the living flame, they dare not get too close when those eyes that are already dead look out into the mists.
Mists of Avalon would be harder to navigate, but Moira pauses. Sensitive are her ears, cautious is her mind, as the moaning begins. Shrieks of the dying open upon the land, and they are sounds the healer-girl knows all too well. The Tonnerre Estate saw its share of death, and at the center stood a bright-eyed girl with a needle fast in hand.
Filter it out, she thinks, reaching through the cries to find what is important. There - there is a sound, a keening cry, a wail for help.
The ghost or girl still searches for them, still begs them onward.
The phoenix goes on, unsure and uncaring why her body demands she finds the child, forces her on this journey she doesn't care on the surface to take.
Dig deeper, something whispers.
Vehemently Moira slams down a door, locking the voice out. She will not dig. She will not look. She will not feel what lies behind the floodgates. So the healer takes another step into the mist instead, and she does not stop even when all others are gone.
"Speech"
notes: Moira chooses to go forward!
The Light Caller looks to him, looks to him and wonders what seas he's swam through to be where he is. But it does not matter, not right now. They are not seas that are here, they are not stories she is ready to ask for, so she turns away with the flick of her ear.
It does not matter, she tries to tell herself.
Moira does not notice when Michael is lost to the fog, does not seem to care the way it tries to force itself down her throat and suffocate her in a world that is not her own. This cotton-clad land is not her tomb, she will be no sacrifice upon the alter for a pagan creature dwelling in the mists. Not even the shadows can reach out and touch the living flame, they dare not get too close when those eyes that are already dead look out into the mists.
Mists of Avalon would be harder to navigate, but Moira pauses. Sensitive are her ears, cautious is her mind, as the moaning begins. Shrieks of the dying open upon the land, and they are sounds the healer-girl knows all too well. The Tonnerre Estate saw its share of death, and at the center stood a bright-eyed girl with a needle fast in hand.
Filter it out, she thinks, reaching through the cries to find what is important. There - there is a sound, a keening cry, a wail for help.
The ghost or girl still searches for them, still begs them onward.
The phoenix goes on, unsure and uncaring why her body demands she finds the child, forces her on this journey she doesn't care on the surface to take.
Dig deeper, something whispers.
Vehemently Moira slams down a door, locking the voice out. She will not dig. She will not look. She will not feel what lies behind the floodgates. So the healer takes another step into the mist instead, and she does not stop even when all others are gone.
notes: Moira chooses to go forward!
