this is the story of a girl,
who cried a river and drowned the whole world
who cried a river and drowned the whole world
They are a monsoon, crashing together, crashing over the land, reshaping the world into something devastating and beautiful and broken. Something never seen before. Not as Elena reaches for Moira, letting herself be pulled into the black-hole heart that rests within the chest of a girl who only knows how to bleed and bleed and bleed. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters as the wind brushes through their hair, combing it as a wild thing.
Moira feels the chill of it on her spine, revels that she feels anything at all.
And then, the golden girl speaks. Sunlight lines her questions, curiosity, hope, naivety. The phoenix knows it is dumb to give in to it, to allow herself to be sucked into a destruction that is not of her own making, but she cannot, will not, deny a simple question. And that question is honest enough, easy enough. It does not seek to delve into an unknown sky, nor wade into the deepest parts of her murky ocean just to save her from drowning.
Moira would rather drown than let another golden heart in.
Dark lips part, sanguine red, bloody and beautiful, on soft words that feel like the first wool sheared from a sheep. "I find the hearts that want to be found.” And it is not a lie. It is not untrue. Every heart that walks alone through the woods is aching. Her own aches even still. Even as it tries to forget. So she pulls her fogs closer and the mystery nearer, lets them cover all the goodness and light Estelle tried so fiercely to release.
Moira will not be unleashed upon the world again, not now.
"You wanted to be found,” she continues at last. It is just as gentle a claim as the last, but there is that smile again. The same smile she wears when she reshapes the cosmos between them.
It is simple enough to bring the burning hearts from above down low, to bury them in her reality just as her own heart is buried at the bottom of the ocean, taken to another land, flown into Solterra and shattered with a second set of wings. So many times it’s been bruised and crushed. So many times it’s come back, stitched and aching for another dose of pain. Maybe the pain is her anesthesia, dulling the rest of reality into something bearable… But when the pain rips into her, she feels even more lost than when it is quiet.
Deeply she breathes, unable to look at the hope so clearly written on Elena’s face. It is something of the future that Moira Tonnerre will not dream of, will not even dare think of. She is sad when she admits "My oceans have all gone, but that does not mean that your fading light must disappear.”
Like that, she is ash. Elena may be the spark, but how could a spark ever stop a wildfire from blazing out of control?
Gritting her teeth, with a bite to her cheek, Moira at last meets those warm blue eyes. With a nod, she tells her "I will dream with you, little lamb.” And she is left to wait for whatever should come next, only hoping that it is quick and easy.
