Moira Tonnerre, the bleeding heart, the phoenix girl
There is a winter storm brewing, but it is not on the surface, not in the skyline that rumbles with thunder and the taste of Autumn. Apples and cinnamon are heavy in the air of Denocte alongside other more exotic spices, other richer flavors that only the Night Court knows. Their harbors are full and bountiful, trading ships coming from unknown places, selling wares the likes of Novus' citizens have never seen before.
Moira misses the cold, ringing halls of her home from time to time. It reminds her of the ice storm within right now.
There is a frown upon her ebony lips. It sits as a dagger waiting to slice out the poison in her court, the poison that festers in her heart. All of it started with a boy.
A stupid boy with black wings and a promise. A dreamer boy with star-skin and a pretty smile. A silly girl of gold and stories.
Had they not met her, she would not have turned into a cold creature, a phoenix that is so cold her touch burns. There is starlight sprinkling upon her skin. Starlight from the small orbs of light that bob like faerie trails after her. It runs hot in the cool air, a bread-crumb trail into the mountains.
And she moves like the night; strong, silent, beautiful in her crumbling light and broken glory. The Emissary seeks solace, seeks silence, seeks a temple found the last winter. It is pale in the glow of the moon, a beacon that cries for her, that calls for her. Not even the tigress guards her hurting cub now. Left to the silence of the woods, the coldness of the climb, and the howling of her soul, she comes to the temple entrance as some red beast, some bloody sacrifice.
Like a lamb lead to slaughter, Moira moves past pale pillars that reach as skeletal fingers into the sky. They cannot contain a phoenix, no bone cage can hold her flaming heart, her molten skin, within Death's reaching grasp. She is indomitable, she is eternal, and she is aching; bleeding starlight like sins upon her tongue, ichor flowing from small scratches from overgrown rose bushes and thorny plants standing guard to the monolith hidden from Time itself.
