M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
The sky does not change even when she does. The world is a constant that keeps turning, turning, tilted on an axis she will never find, existing for an eternity that she has chosen to join in on. Even when her own home is far, far, far away, farther than she can reach, can imagine, can ever truly know, the skies are still the same. Perhaps the space between the stars is not so great that it would deliver her unto a new home that does not hold some resemblance to her last, for the skies are still the same even when her heart is not, even when she is not.
Moira longs for the days that she did not bleed light from her pores, that she did not spew sorrow to such as extent as now. The twins, Estelle, Eluoan and isolation were her only friends. Her own brothers never spoke a word to her, her parents letting her go into the arms of another who could take better care, keep better watch, of their problematic daughter and effectively releasing her into the world without so much as a goodbye. The Tonnerres are an opulent group, a selective group, but at the heart of it all they are a cold blooded guild of people run by a woman with very little of a heart left. What beats in her chest is not warm, but cold, and it loves only two enough to grant them favor within her halls.
Her father is one of those two.
The other, the Matron does not speak of.
There, at least, Moira knew herself better than she does now. Whenever her heart becomes turbulent and uncertain, her path murky and clouded, she turns to the mountains. They stood tall and strong when Raum went against Denocte. Not even dragon fire could bring down the gates of the Arma. The knights and guards are a fearless, loyal lot that protect their gaping maw with their lives if need be. It is only the monsters that timid souls should fear...
More often than not, Moira is one of those monsters.
Tonight, Neerja paces beside her, reunited again with her beloved companion. The tigress has been kept too long from any trees and been denied access too long into the heart of her bonded. Now, there is a crack along their bond and she opens the door to tread along a sliver-thin rope. What she finds is chaos, indecision, fear. It is bone-deep, soul-deep, built on a graveyard of lies, a coliseum of uncertainties and anger dwelling in the shadows. This is enough to draw the tigress from Moira's mind, instead brushing her hip against the woman's thigh, pulling her into the present, into the now and here, instead of letting her float in a room of terror and dread.
Even a beast can drown. Even a monster can die.
A smile falls softly to the light wielder's face, bending over it like a shadow, but it does not flee as quickly as they do. Not tonight. Not yet. Cicadas an crickets fall silent when the duo come to pass them by, shying from the light that builds and builds upon the phoenix' skin, illuminating her even in the deepest night. Above, stars twinkle, smiling as only they can do, winking shyly from their cold and quiet crypts. Moira does not know to smile at them, does not think to wave and hope that somehow, somewhere, her blood might feel it miles and miles away. Instead, her golden gaze turns to a rocking outcrop and the outline of a woman.
She is silent as Stella paints her sheepskin, wearing the quietude beautifully as only a Tonnerre can. At last, the cloth is set down and the phoenix clears her throat. A single brow arches and she is somewhat the girl that she had been upon entering this world, and somewhat a new creature entirely, born again as a huntress, born again as a shooting star. "I remember star charts from my home, some would crumble if their glass cases were ever removed. You have a gift," she remarks in her smoky voice. It is the curl of midnight against Stellanor's skin, something mesmerizing, something you remember only in dreams. It could be so easy to fall under her spell... So easy and so hard to forget her now that she is star-forged and world-weary. Something hidden, something secret shimmers under the glow of her skin, dances along Neerja's painted hide, and it is delectable as only a forbidden fruit can be. "Have you found what you're looking for in the stars?" She asks and is reminded of another girl who wishes so dearly to hold on to the starlight that just seems to flit away.
Moira can touch it. Moira can bend it to her will... She does not say these things, does not let the world know her secret tonight, this stranger is not privy to her wrath when it is dormant. Sometimes, there are small blessings like this she thanks the ancestors for between every thought.
@Stellanor please take my dear heart in a rare moment of peace
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
The sky does not change even when she does. The world is a constant that keeps turning, turning, tilted on an axis she will never find, existing for an eternity that she has chosen to join in on. Even when her own home is far, far, far away, farther than she can reach, can imagine, can ever truly know, the skies are still the same. Perhaps the space between the stars is not so great that it would deliver her unto a new home that does not hold some resemblance to her last, for the skies are still the same even when her heart is not, even when she is not.
Moira longs for the days that she did not bleed light from her pores, that she did not spew sorrow to such as extent as now. The twins, Estelle, Eluoan and isolation were her only friends. Her own brothers never spoke a word to her, her parents letting her go into the arms of another who could take better care, keep better watch, of their problematic daughter and effectively releasing her into the world without so much as a goodbye. The Tonnerres are an opulent group, a selective group, but at the heart of it all they are a cold blooded guild of people run by a woman with very little of a heart left. What beats in her chest is not warm, but cold, and it loves only two enough to grant them favor within her halls.
Her father is one of those two.
The other, the Matron does not speak of.
There, at least, Moira knew herself better than she does now. Whenever her heart becomes turbulent and uncertain, her path murky and clouded, she turns to the mountains. They stood tall and strong when Raum went against Denocte. Not even dragon fire could bring down the gates of the Arma. The knights and guards are a fearless, loyal lot that protect their gaping maw with their lives if need be. It is only the monsters that timid souls should fear...
More often than not, Moira is one of those monsters.
Tonight, Neerja paces beside her, reunited again with her beloved companion. The tigress has been kept too long from any trees and been denied access too long into the heart of her bonded. Now, there is a crack along their bond and she opens the door to tread along a sliver-thin rope. What she finds is chaos, indecision, fear. It is bone-deep, soul-deep, built on a graveyard of lies, a coliseum of uncertainties and anger dwelling in the shadows. This is enough to draw the tigress from Moira's mind, instead brushing her hip against the woman's thigh, pulling her into the present, into the now and here, instead of letting her float in a room of terror and dread.
Even a beast can drown. Even a monster can die.
A smile falls softly to the light wielder's face, bending over it like a shadow, but it does not flee as quickly as they do. Not tonight. Not yet. Cicadas an crickets fall silent when the duo come to pass them by, shying from the light that builds and builds upon the phoenix' skin, illuminating her even in the deepest night. Above, stars twinkle, smiling as only they can do, winking shyly from their cold and quiet crypts. Moira does not know to smile at them, does not think to wave and hope that somehow, somewhere, her blood might feel it miles and miles away. Instead, her golden gaze turns to a rocking outcrop and the outline of a woman.
She is silent as Stella paints her sheepskin, wearing the quietude beautifully as only a Tonnerre can. At last, the cloth is set down and the phoenix clears her throat. A single brow arches and she is somewhat the girl that she had been upon entering this world, and somewhat a new creature entirely, born again as a huntress, born again as a shooting star. "I remember star charts from my home, some would crumble if their glass cases were ever removed. You have a gift," she remarks in her smoky voice. It is the curl of midnight against Stellanor's skin, something mesmerizing, something you remember only in dreams. It could be so easy to fall under her spell... So easy and so hard to forget her now that she is star-forged and world-weary. Something hidden, something secret shimmers under the glow of her skin, dances along Neerja's painted hide, and it is delectable as only a forbidden fruit can be. "Have you found what you're looking for in the stars?" She asks and is reminded of another girl who wishes so dearly to hold on to the starlight that just seems to flit away.
Moira can touch it. Moira can bend it to her will... She does not say these things, does not let the world know her secret tonight, this stranger is not privy to her wrath when it is dormant. Sometimes, there are small blessings like this she thanks the ancestors for between every thought.
@
