[P] girls burn brighter [Moira]

[Elena]

take this burden away from me
and bury it before it buries me

Nothing, sometimes, is safer.
Numbness, sometimes, prevents hurt.

She has seen nothing, when her vision was covered with the death she tried to bring back. Yes, it was safe there, without seeing the world, blind to the pain, unable to notice the suffering, she could not see the hatred. There was something all too beautiful about that, but even as she sat there in her nothingness, Elena knew that there was loneliness, and for someone who wants, someone who craves touch, who desires only the fleeting glances of strangers, Elena felt herself spiraling in turmoil. And then her eyes turned blue, and she came to Novus.

You would never guess from the lightness with which the golden girl walks at the edge of the mountains of Denocte that she bears the weight of an atlas on her shoulders. It presses and crushes, but she holds it up time and time again, to keep it upright, to keep herself strong, even if inside her knees are buckling and her chest is heaving.

She sees her and Elena’s attention is immediately drawn to the mare, to the hardness she wears like armor, to the sharpness of her eyes. She is beautiful, Elena thinks, only because her first thought can never be of danger. Elena takes in warning lights like fireworks, alarm bells like a symphony. Again and again she has made the mistake of befriending the wolf in the woods, offering him her cloak of red and her basket of goodies. She peers under the bed not to avoid the boogey man, but to see if he is still there, smiling his wicked grin that she can only ever look back at sweetly. The golden girl is enthralled by her monsters and enchanted by their danger.

Elena walks into the den of the lion and places a a dandelion in his hair and a kiss upon his cheek.

She is everything that Elena has seen in strong women, even despite her thinner appearance. She can see her, fierce, steely, and she finds it so beautiful, although, perhaps, her enemies do not. She was something to behold as Elena moves closer to her. “Hello,” she offers her, like a plea sent into the night. While Moira asks, Elena begs. The feeling of wanting is familiar, and with it comes the creeping of shadows and the way his forehead had pressed against her own, his breath along her back as he held her. His voice, his laugh, his smile, his…

And then she is kissed by starlight in the way his side leaned into hers, and his voice that soothed, his breath that could only bring lightness and life into her. His light, oh his light. Elena will never forget her star.

“Are you a woman of the mountains?” She asks only because the look in her eyes is Aletta before she went to battle. Because it is the steady resolve of her mother as she fought off the illness. Because it is the elegance of a red haired that has grace Elena could never dream of. “Or are you someone else entirely?”

so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me

@Moira