I WILL ALWAYS WAIT FOR YOU
where the falling stars live
where the falling stars live
With the soft shh, shh of her breath, Maeve settles into something less skittish, more girlish and akin to what a young thing should be, or so the Pegasus supposes. She has little knowledge of what children should be in a place like this. So few have laughed through the halls of Denocte, through the keep and into the kitchen - their mothers still keep them close, still remember a man of silver who slayed children and women and men with no concern for who they were, what they were. Blatant disregard for life that churns the physician's stomach even now, and even though she knows he was not always a monster, she knows he died as any monster would - completely alone and it was his own doing.
Still, her thoughts turn away from Raum and to the girl before her, a smile still teasing the edges of her dark lips. The lightness of Maeve is echoed in the lightness of Moira, the stars upon her skin twinkling playfully as they have not in so long. "I promise," she whispers just as quietly, almost like the song of the wind that brushes their ears and combs their hair, "I would not gobble you up like a wolf would." She lowers herself down then, coming eye to eye, on the level of the smaller version of Morr, and tilts her head, huffs softly to the girl.
The Tonnerre girl knows how gossip works, she's quite certain that the Regent would tell her daughter that Moira eats three children for breakfast and another five for desert at the end of the day along with other atrocities. Usually, this would make her frown, make red ears tip back into the braid along her neck, but today she's got rumors to disprove and a little girl to make smile.
Reaching down beside her knee, a single dandelion is plucked from the ground. Pulling it up and hovering it between the two of them, she tilts her head the other way and nods. "Do you know what this is, little lamb? It's a dandelion. When I was a girl, I'd wish on them. Would you like to wish on this one for me today?" Slowly, she pushes the white fluffy thing closer to Maeve, telling Neerja to settle before she frightens the poor girl half to death. "It would help cheer me when I had a confusing day," the phoenix confesses, watching as a single feathered seed is plucked from her offering, carried on the breeze to find a new start just as she herself had done.
"What would you like to do, Maeve? I'll respect your choice," and it is honest words that meet young ears, earnest words that ring with hope, with the choice she offers her little friend. No matter what the girl decides, Moira would let her be at ease and do as she bade. No one should be forced into the company of another that made them nervous or ill at ease. Someday, somehow though, she would show Maeve that she could trust her, that she is not the monster her mother painted. No matter how the two disagree, Moira can't help but have hope for the children that would be their future.
Still, her thoughts turn away from Raum and to the girl before her, a smile still teasing the edges of her dark lips. The lightness of Maeve is echoed in the lightness of Moira, the stars upon her skin twinkling playfully as they have not in so long. "I promise," she whispers just as quietly, almost like the song of the wind that brushes their ears and combs their hair, "I would not gobble you up like a wolf would." She lowers herself down then, coming eye to eye, on the level of the smaller version of Morr, and tilts her head, huffs softly to the girl.
The Tonnerre girl knows how gossip works, she's quite certain that the Regent would tell her daughter that Moira eats three children for breakfast and another five for desert at the end of the day along with other atrocities. Usually, this would make her frown, make red ears tip back into the braid along her neck, but today she's got rumors to disprove and a little girl to make smile.
Reaching down beside her knee, a single dandelion is plucked from the ground. Pulling it up and hovering it between the two of them, she tilts her head the other way and nods. "Do you know what this is, little lamb? It's a dandelion. When I was a girl, I'd wish on them. Would you like to wish on this one for me today?" Slowly, she pushes the white fluffy thing closer to Maeve, telling Neerja to settle before she frightens the poor girl half to death. "It would help cheer me when I had a confusing day," the phoenix confesses, watching as a single feathered seed is plucked from her offering, carried on the breeze to find a new start just as she herself had done.
"What would you like to do, Maeve? I'll respect your choice," and it is honest words that meet young ears, earnest words that ring with hope, with the choice she offers her little friend. No matter what the girl decides, Moira would let her be at ease and do as she bade. No one should be forced into the company of another that made them nervous or ill at ease. Someday, somehow though, she would show Maeve that she could trust her, that she is not the monster her mother painted. No matter how the two disagree, Moira can't help but have hope for the children that would be their future.
@'maeve' "speaks" | a soft thing again | « r »
