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?
Ice can only rage so long; storms can only ravage a sea, an island, a body until it is frozen through and through. She cannot feel herself frozen, but one never notices the numbness until they cannot move, cannot feel, cannot function as they once did. Soon, it could be too late.
She does not care.
All she feels is the howling hollows of her heart, the canyons of darkness of her soul. All she knows is the rage biting her blood when the man who looks at her like the moon - such sorrow and judgement and pity - says no. Everything else does not matter. Nothing else matters in those moments only that he is a mountain standing in her pathway and she will conquer it.
She will move past him no matter what.
There is a snarl, there are no words for the girl who was once so shy, so eloquent, so lovely. Only a savage scream builds and builds like the pressure in a dam. Surely she will crack too soon, too quickly, and a unstoppable flood will be unleashed on everything she knows and everything she is. Soon, so soon, even the phoenix will burn without stopping.
Darkness swallows her snake, she feels it crushed as though it is her own throat that is closed off. Nostrils flare and it does not matter that Tenebre is of Denocte. It does not matter that he means no harm and wishes her well. It does not matter.
Nothing matters.
More light streams from the moon that smiles so sadly down upon her, and she pulls it like a girl starving, she strings it down as her toy and weapon as a fallen angel wields their last hopes - boldly, bravely, beautifully. It pools and pools between them, building as a rope in her hands, a wall between them growing higher and shining such soft, sweet silver rays. Moira watches the latticework falling into place.
There is only anger and desperation burning in those golden eyes. She is bathed in the glow of her power, it radiates from the stars upon her skin that pulse, hungry for more, more, more. They beg and beg for her to feed them, for her body to grow hot with the light, for her skin to boil with the power. Moira does not hold back, does not stop as it spools from her body. The starlight on her skin, faint and yellow and orange and white, joins like a million sparkling eyes into the wall.
It moves as a tsunami - a singular motion, impregnable, impenetrable, a solid force between them. Slowly she builds it up as moves it forward, pushing Tenebre back and to the side.
This is her path.
He will not stop her.
Not now, not now, not now.
This is all she knows. That she is strong and she is powerful and she will not be stopped.
She is so tired of men and their hungry eyes, their sad eyes, their pitying eyes that eat her flesh and eat her heart and eat her soul. Tenebre is another man, come to tell her what to do and where to go, and what to feel.
Not tonight.
Never again.
With bared teeth and a savage scream, the phoenix is half wild, have mad, as she charges behind her wall, aiming to wrap her woven rope of light about his feet to tear him from the very ground he stands upon if she must.
Tenebre will not hold her back.
