she will learn to rely on her own sword
in every battle, in every struggle, in every war
in every battle, in every struggle, in every war
Where once cries stood out, the hush of silence falls in the misty woods. Fog clears, opening, unfurling the petals of a midnight flower to reveal a clearing, an opening, a little grotto where the grave of one long since gone from this world in body lies dormant. From it she rises, from it she drips moonlight tears that are as pale as spider-silk in the eerie glow.
A silver sheath adorns her, crystals rising, avenging stones, memorable stones, to make for a sight that the phoenix would not soon forget. And for a moment, she is brought back to the Estate again. Memories flood up, crushing frigid statues and ice sculptures as they break out of their cage, overwhelming, overcoming, overpowering all else that the Tonnerre girl knows.
And they do not stop.
And they do not forgive.
To a time when she was a girl laughing beside her mother in the dark of night. To a time when her father would whisper of their ancestors, and tell the tales of how they guide them all still.
Moira wonders if this is what they meant.
Yet this phantom is of no blood to hers, mortal blood ties do not bind them. It's nigh impossible, the wraith that floats nearer with pursed lips, the one with judging eyes. Does she still see them the same? Alas, the woman draped in red knows not the answers. Perhaps, should she have more time, she would seek them out. But not tonight, not when questions are raised and the murmuring of words from the Champion of Battle rises.
The words are a blur, unnecessary for her to know them, as gears grind and cogs turn. Moira sees the faces of smiling children playing at the Estate. She sees them turn their noses at her for her wings. She watches as they all walk away and grow and grow, vipers born from a sea of lambs. How awful, how beautiful the process of destruction and rebirth the Estate has created; and she knows it is not right.
She knows they spew poison into the blood of the young.
At last honeyed eyes focus, at last red crown raises to look from one to the other. How much time has passed? Was there a long silence between her thoughts and the world outside of them? Outside of those crushing, freezing waters does not matter when she remembers her home, the place where she hopes Estelle has returned to flourish despite her banishment.
The Emissary clears her throat, dipping her head once more as she begins in tones meant for midnight times like these. "I would wish to be selfish. My bones know loss as Katniss' do; my heart knows horrors and bears scars just as my skin does. I would want to be so selfish, but I could not," a pause, an almost-sigh on an exhale, a rueful grin. When she speaks once more, it is a woman of passion that rises; a woman with an artist' soul and healer's hands; a woman caged as a bird made to sing, set free as a wild thing left unattended, abandoned and forgotten as a broken thing learning to tape itself together again. "I have seen the horrors of this land and my own sheltered home. I have seen a King fell men and women and children with no regard to age nor gender. I have watched children run through streets, bloodied and afraid. I have cried when Reichenbach left us and his court of Crows. I have mourned when Isra was taken and came back again. But all of that starts with the spark, with the very beginning." She thinks of her childhood. She thinks of Estelle's, and the Twin's, and so many more.
How will Isra and Eik's twins grow? How will Apolonia mould herself in the future, having been born to such a tumultuous time?
Such different lives they would lead, and Moira wants to know it all, to drink it down, to learn and to never stop growing, stop knowing, but only of her own will power and successes, by no hand but her own. Not this ultimate curse, a power without end. With a wrinkled nose, she states thus: "I would not want such a terrible power, for it always asks such a horrid price. Oh, but if I could fix one thing, I would pave out a home for the homeless, a place of safety for the children, our brightest hope of the future. We are such ephemeral things, and it is the seed of hope that we plant and grow and nurture in the young. If I could, I would build orphanages and feed them. I would tend the sick for all my days and heal hearts and bodies and learn to heal minds." And then, she wonders, if that would make her happy and fill her life with something more than what she has? Does she truly need more though?
Perhaps not.
She is reminded of Asterion and his free, laughing smile; of his sad eyes; of his starlight sides that grew so thin with the weight of Terrastella on his shoulders and the pressure she put upon him, too. Moira thinks of Caine and his broken promise - purposeful or not - and the way her heart first fluttered when they'd raged at one another. At last, she thinks of Isra and Bexley Briar - a girl, a dalliance, a laughing thing who dared her to dance at a festival of flowers, who came, broken and hurting, to her doorstep for something. There were so many things she wanted to be selfish for, but the Tonnerre girl could not seize them as her family would without a second's thought. "I would want to be selfish, but I have known fire on my skin and watched darkness swallow those I hold most dear, watched their own destructions come about in a pit of snakes. I do not wish to watch this any longer, to see sorrow bloom in the youngest of eyes when they know they are truly alone."
Perhaps the world had enough of the Tonnerre's ways, or perhaps it was simply time to change and be born anew as a phoenix, as she is likely to do until her last days. "There would be no thanks, and I wish not for that. I only would try to help our children, our hungry, our homeless, our hopes of the future by finding them a home and making it warm and merry for all of their days. Perhaps their children would come visit, too, once they are grown and flown the coup. I wonder what sparks we can ignite in their hearts, what different paths they might choose, if only they knew they did not have to be so scared, and sad, and alone." Finality sounds with the last word, her smoky tones fading. The impassioned girl settles again, a kite reeling in its string before it flies too high into a lightning storm. Moira is not a noble creature, she is a selfish thing and possessive, but her heart is good at the very bottom of every layer peeled back. Despite it all, she has learned to love. In time, perhaps, she will love once more.
"Speech"
A silver sheath adorns her, crystals rising, avenging stones, memorable stones, to make for a sight that the phoenix would not soon forget. And for a moment, she is brought back to the Estate again. Memories flood up, crushing frigid statues and ice sculptures as they break out of their cage, overwhelming, overcoming, overpowering all else that the Tonnerre girl knows.
And they do not stop.
And they do not forgive.
To a time when she was a girl laughing beside her mother in the dark of night. To a time when her father would whisper of their ancestors, and tell the tales of how they guide them all still.
Moira wonders if this is what they meant.
Yet this phantom is of no blood to hers, mortal blood ties do not bind them. It's nigh impossible, the wraith that floats nearer with pursed lips, the one with judging eyes. Does she still see them the same? Alas, the woman draped in red knows not the answers. Perhaps, should she have more time, she would seek them out. But not tonight, not when questions are raised and the murmuring of words from the Champion of Battle rises.
The words are a blur, unnecessary for her to know them, as gears grind and cogs turn. Moira sees the faces of smiling children playing at the Estate. She sees them turn their noses at her for her wings. She watches as they all walk away and grow and grow, vipers born from a sea of lambs. How awful, how beautiful the process of destruction and rebirth the Estate has created; and she knows it is not right.
She knows they spew poison into the blood of the young.
At last honeyed eyes focus, at last red crown raises to look from one to the other. How much time has passed? Was there a long silence between her thoughts and the world outside of them? Outside of those crushing, freezing waters does not matter when she remembers her home, the place where she hopes Estelle has returned to flourish despite her banishment.
The Emissary clears her throat, dipping her head once more as she begins in tones meant for midnight times like these. "I would wish to be selfish. My bones know loss as Katniss' do; my heart knows horrors and bears scars just as my skin does. I would want to be so selfish, but I could not," a pause, an almost-sigh on an exhale, a rueful grin. When she speaks once more, it is a woman of passion that rises; a woman with an artist' soul and healer's hands; a woman caged as a bird made to sing, set free as a wild thing left unattended, abandoned and forgotten as a broken thing learning to tape itself together again. "I have seen the horrors of this land and my own sheltered home. I have seen a King fell men and women and children with no regard to age nor gender. I have watched children run through streets, bloodied and afraid. I have cried when Reichenbach left us and his court of Crows. I have mourned when Isra was taken and came back again. But all of that starts with the spark, with the very beginning." She thinks of her childhood. She thinks of Estelle's, and the Twin's, and so many more.
How will Isra and Eik's twins grow? How will Apolonia mould herself in the future, having been born to such a tumultuous time?
Such different lives they would lead, and Moira wants to know it all, to drink it down, to learn and to never stop growing, stop knowing, but only of her own will power and successes, by no hand but her own. Not this ultimate curse, a power without end. With a wrinkled nose, she states thus: "I would not want such a terrible power, for it always asks such a horrid price. Oh, but if I could fix one thing, I would pave out a home for the homeless, a place of safety for the children, our brightest hope of the future. We are such ephemeral things, and it is the seed of hope that we plant and grow and nurture in the young. If I could, I would build orphanages and feed them. I would tend the sick for all my days and heal hearts and bodies and learn to heal minds." And then, she wonders, if that would make her happy and fill her life with something more than what she has? Does she truly need more though?
Perhaps not.
She is reminded of Asterion and his free, laughing smile; of his sad eyes; of his starlight sides that grew so thin with the weight of Terrastella on his shoulders and the pressure she put upon him, too. Moira thinks of Caine and his broken promise - purposeful or not - and the way her heart first fluttered when they'd raged at one another. At last, she thinks of Isra and Bexley Briar - a girl, a dalliance, a laughing thing who dared her to dance at a festival of flowers, who came, broken and hurting, to her doorstep for something. There were so many things she wanted to be selfish for, but the Tonnerre girl could not seize them as her family would without a second's thought. "I would want to be selfish, but I have known fire on my skin and watched darkness swallow those I hold most dear, watched their own destructions come about in a pit of snakes. I do not wish to watch this any longer, to see sorrow bloom in the youngest of eyes when they know they are truly alone."
Perhaps the world had enough of the Tonnerre's ways, or perhaps it was simply time to change and be born anew as a phoenix, as she is likely to do until her last days. "There would be no thanks, and I wish not for that. I only would try to help our children, our hungry, our homeless, our hopes of the future by finding them a home and making it warm and merry for all of their days. Perhaps their children would come visit, too, once they are grown and flown the coup. I wonder what sparks we can ignite in their hearts, what different paths they might choose, if only they knew they did not have to be so scared, and sad, and alone." Finality sounds with the last word, her smoky tones fading. The impassioned girl settles again, a kite reeling in its string before it flies too high into a lightning storm. Moira is not a noble creature, she is a selfish thing and possessive, but her heart is good at the very bottom of every layer peeled back. Despite it all, she has learned to love. In time, perhaps, she will love once more.
"Speech"
