my hands reach for her, but she cannot be anchored.
she belongs to no one, to nothing, to nowhere.
she belongs to no one, to nothing, to nowhere.
He is nervous and he is afraid, and she thinks he ought to be, but then so is she. Her heart beats more fiercely than any war drums ever have, her eyes wide for a moment then shallow and closed, shuttering and sharp. Words are blades to pierce him, wound him, undo him as he undoes her over and over. Tucked beneath her blankets before her mouth purses, gaze snapping back to his just as she snaps "Does that make it okay to mourn them like they are gone? Does that make it okay to abandon home and reason and become more a beast than Neerja can ever be? Does that make it okay-" she cuts herself off with a growl. Frustration bleeds back into her face, and she is quick to douse it with guilt, with a plea for forgiveness.
Moira knows she is not the only one wronged, Moira knows she is a mule to be so mean. More than that, Moira knows that her bonded feels these wounds so deeply that she can only hope to repair them with time."Save those sorry eyes for Neerja, she has been hurt worst of all." It is spit out at the pillows, her own golden gaze falling down, down, down to etch his hair into patterns until she's certain that she could recreate every strand upon a canvas with her eyes closed. There is another, she knows, that she could paint ever shadow of his face without having to look at him. No amount of time that passes will change that, for he held her heart first, he held her hand first. Even Estelle would be hard pressed to wash those memories from her heart and drown them in the salt of the sea.
No, not even Estelle could save her from herself.
Some things, she knows, will never truly disappear. Not even death could take him from her mind. Then, there is Michael - golden and glorious in his cloud of pale hair, his soft, sad smile, his lifetime after lifetime after lifetime of experiences... He draws her in until she is a moon orbiting his sun. Even Moira cannot shine as brightly as Michael, not even with all the light pulled from the sky and held between her hands, offered only to him, always to him...
Biting her lips, she shakes her head. Pools find the corners of her eyes like diamonds, precious gems held there stubbornly until they disappear or fall. God how she hopes they won't fall. Instead, the shattered girl (the tattered girl), licks her lips and whispers "I missed Asterion and he left without a goodbye. I missed Bexley Briar and her white curls and her golden smile and she left without a goodbye. I missed Isra, my dear heart, and she left without a goodbye. I missed you and you left without a goodbye..." These are the ones who hold her heart on a string. One after another, dancing by, disappearing into dusk, into dawn, into the dead of night... All that was left when they did was her. Alone. Abandoned again.
She could have run, but the prude girl could no more run from Denocte and Novus as she could Neerja. Some bonds are too strong to be broken.
Mulishly she frowns, nostrils flaring wide as she snorts at him "Just because something makes sense does not mean it always happens. I once thought a great many things made sense..." Although the words start strong, start fierce as any lioness' would, they end soft, end quietly, end pensive and sad.
Why must she always end sad?
"Michael, I think you make sense, too." Her confession leaves her with a puckered brow, with only the barest curl of her lips. She holds her breath, holds on to him, and refuses to look away. If he should leave now, at least she will have this moment. The jungle she professed her love to another man in is so far away, but it, too, is fresh in her mind. After a moment like this, Asterion disappeared.
Is this her curse? For everyone she learns to love, yearns to love, to disappear when she says it aloud? So be it, she will bare it all for them. For them, she would die a million deaths and come again with a smile and another ocean welling with demons of her own demise, demons of her own making.
"Speech"
Moira knows she is not the only one wronged, Moira knows she is a mule to be so mean. More than that, Moira knows that her bonded feels these wounds so deeply that she can only hope to repair them with time."Save those sorry eyes for Neerja, she has been hurt worst of all." It is spit out at the pillows, her own golden gaze falling down, down, down to etch his hair into patterns until she's certain that she could recreate every strand upon a canvas with her eyes closed. There is another, she knows, that she could paint ever shadow of his face without having to look at him. No amount of time that passes will change that, for he held her heart first, he held her hand first. Even Estelle would be hard pressed to wash those memories from her heart and drown them in the salt of the sea.
No, not even Estelle could save her from herself.
Some things, she knows, will never truly disappear. Not even death could take him from her mind. Then, there is Michael - golden and glorious in his cloud of pale hair, his soft, sad smile, his lifetime after lifetime after lifetime of experiences... He draws her in until she is a moon orbiting his sun. Even Moira cannot shine as brightly as Michael, not even with all the light pulled from the sky and held between her hands, offered only to him, always to him...
Biting her lips, she shakes her head. Pools find the corners of her eyes like diamonds, precious gems held there stubbornly until they disappear or fall. God how she hopes they won't fall. Instead, the shattered girl (the tattered girl), licks her lips and whispers "I missed Asterion and he left without a goodbye. I missed Bexley Briar and her white curls and her golden smile and she left without a goodbye. I missed Isra, my dear heart, and she left without a goodbye. I missed you and you left without a goodbye..." These are the ones who hold her heart on a string. One after another, dancing by, disappearing into dusk, into dawn, into the dead of night... All that was left when they did was her. Alone. Abandoned again.
She could have run, but the prude girl could no more run from Denocte and Novus as she could Neerja. Some bonds are too strong to be broken.
Mulishly she frowns, nostrils flaring wide as she snorts at him "Just because something makes sense does not mean it always happens. I once thought a great many things made sense..." Although the words start strong, start fierce as any lioness' would, they end soft, end quietly, end pensive and sad.
Why must she always end sad?
"Michael, I think you make sense, too." Her confession leaves her with a puckered brow, with only the barest curl of her lips. She holds her breath, holds on to him, and refuses to look away. If he should leave now, at least she will have this moment. The jungle she professed her love to another man in is so far away, but it, too, is fresh in her mind. After a moment like this, Asterion disappeared.
Is this her curse? For everyone she learns to love, yearns to love, to disappear when she says it aloud? So be it, she will bare it all for them. For them, she would die a million deaths and come again with a smile and another ocean welling with demons of her own demise, demons of her own making.
