moira
we never had to force love
we were drowning in it the moment we met.
we were drowning in it the moment we met.
Weightless, floating, she slumbers uninterrupted in the forgotten remains of a forgotten temple on a forgotten mountaintop that is only climbed for passage, never exploration. A pale light blankets her, protecting the woman from the snow that whispers through tattered doorways. When she came, days and months and years prior, they were not so broken. They were, at best, rusted and injured, but never had they been so…shattered. Only hinges hid there now, a ghastly reminder of the two beings now left in this holy place and their great and terrible gifts. Moira does not bother with the living world, not waking, not flinching, not bothering to peel open her eyes that are so very heavy with the weight of the world, of the loss, firmly pressing them down any time she tried.
So she had let Neerja run wild, her dear heart and fierce companion. The tigress, to her credit, only left to eat and returned each day, each night, to watch over the woman as she slept away her immortal days. Timeless, ageless, linked inextricably with Tenebrae it seemed, she was doomed to the same fate of forever. The kiss of an eternity did not dare push strands of white or grey into her curling locks. Only let her hair grow out once more, the only hint of time passing since she had first lain there.
About her, the once-monk will find dust undisturbed by anything save the paws of Neerja. And when he bends his lips to press against her brow, the shield of light flares brightly, blinding even to a blind man, reaching out to feel him, to assess the threat. When it finds the darkness she knows, the darkness she’s held and that has held her, it falters and then blinks out. Velveteen caress across her face, golden eyes remain shut as she breathes out. This is a world she is not ready to face again. Bexley. Asterion. Cain. Michael. And Isra and Eik. Goddess she hurts. Her soul bleeds out, screams. Reminded again and again of the time she lost Estelle. These are wounds that would bleed forever.
The certainly lies heavily in her heart, but his voice rings out. Movement over her messy hair. Warm breath against her warm skin. ”Tenebrae?” She whispers it, not daring to hope, not daring to crack open her eyes yet. Not when she listens to the ragged hiss of his breath, the same echoing loneliness in herself mirrored in those tones. ”Are you real?” She asks to the darkness. Tentatively, she moves her mouth to the side of his, huffs in against his whiskers, takes in the scent that is purely her friend despite the time that has passed. How much time that is, she does not know. ”I was dreaming,” she whispers, and her words are empty - explanation enough that she could not find their past, those they loved most, even in her dreams. They are gone… And she has almost stopped asking why they always must go.
