M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
One year ago, he followed her into a maze with a strange man from another court. One year ago, she met a ghost who inspired her to be more. One year ago, he left her without a whisper of goodbye.
Autumn is as sweet as it is bitter, just as Terrastella still tries to shatter her, taking battering rams to her walls, every time she comes back. But her love of the cliffs and the smell of the sea salt air is greater than the cringing of her heart, the twinge of her skin as it withdraws, trying to pull her away with every inch that covers her. She cannot be pulled off the course she chooses, a stubborn, oafish woman with too much heart and not enough thoughts to accompany them.
Too many memories buzz around for her to focus and choose just one, so she lets them hum and focuses on the tapping of her feet as she moves along the winding path. At the end, an orchard awaits. Moira misses the taste of apple pies baked with her family's recipe, and she can't seem to find the right orchard, the right apple, the right taste in all of Denocte. Perhaps it has something to do with the experience of picking your own apples - the Estate has its own orchard she could run through and gather fruits from for her mother. When she was younger, Gizelle would always bake her sweets, enough to keep her kind, keep her soft despite the rest of the family's displeasure. Those moments when she'd spread flour on her mother's nose instead of the counters kept her alive.
Now, she goes towards a new orchard, a new apple pie on the horizon.
Then, instead of the sound of her own feet, Michael's voice comes like the rustle of leaves and the feel of smooth pumpkin pie on her tongue. Unbidden, unwanted, and welcome all the same. She looks over to him with wide, golden eyes. Tilted head and thoughtful lips, she pauses before nodding. "This time, I follow you."
@Michael :P
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
One year ago, he followed her into a maze with a strange man from another court. One year ago, she met a ghost who inspired her to be more. One year ago, he left her without a whisper of goodbye.
Autumn is as sweet as it is bitter, just as Terrastella still tries to shatter her, taking battering rams to her walls, every time she comes back. But her love of the cliffs and the smell of the sea salt air is greater than the cringing of her heart, the twinge of her skin as it withdraws, trying to pull her away with every inch that covers her. She cannot be pulled off the course she chooses, a stubborn, oafish woman with too much heart and not enough thoughts to accompany them.
Too many memories buzz around for her to focus and choose just one, so she lets them hum and focuses on the tapping of her feet as she moves along the winding path. At the end, an orchard awaits. Moira misses the taste of apple pies baked with her family's recipe, and she can't seem to find the right orchard, the right apple, the right taste in all of Denocte. Perhaps it has something to do with the experience of picking your own apples - the Estate has its own orchard she could run through and gather fruits from for her mother. When she was younger, Gizelle would always bake her sweets, enough to keep her kind, keep her soft despite the rest of the family's displeasure. Those moments when she'd spread flour on her mother's nose instead of the counters kept her alive.
Now, she goes towards a new orchard, a new apple pie on the horizon.
Then, instead of the sound of her own feet, Michael's voice comes like the rustle of leaves and the feel of smooth pumpkin pie on her tongue. Unbidden, unwanted, and welcome all the same. She looks over to him with wide, golden eyes. Tilted head and thoughtful lips, she pauses before nodding. "This time, I follow you."
@
