What if I'm tryin', but then I close my eyes And then I'm right back, lost in that last goodbye? And what if time doesn't do what it's supposed to do? What if I never get over you?
A voice rolls as thunder does when she turns round the corner up ahead, his darkness a net cast about him just as the angry orbs that flicker in and out of existence in her wake are strewn behind her. He stands strong and tall and bold. Ever so bold in the face of fire, in the face of doom and destruction and death.
She wears a snarl as well as any monster, turning her face into a grim, shaded portrait of what it once was. Perhaps, in this light, she looks a demon with her shredded skin and hollowed curves. Even her crown is down, her hackles raised, her eyes alight at the sight of him. But what burns in golden depths is not a natural fire, nothing of this earth.
Moira makes no sound as her head tilts, as she sizes him up again and a ray of light slithers along the ground, twining around his ankle to chase away the shadows, to chase him from her path.
Solitude.
Silence.
Isolation.
Not for the first time in her life, Moira wants to be alone. So she feeds her rage kindling, faces of those who go, faces of shadows in a temple, strips of memories that are as beautiful as they are painful.
All she knows is pain and a hunger in her soul.
“Move, Monk," is all she growls, the only warning she will offer him this night.
