birds born in cages
think freedom is a crime
think freedom is a crime
Fogs grow thicker as bodies are encompassed, enveloped in white and grey. Hers stays rooted down when voices rise - the voices of others who came and stopped. They are plucked like fat hens ready for slaughter, taken somewhere that Moira does not know. They are not hers to save.
They are not hers to keep.
Others move forward, pushing mists into her face, pushing creatures out of the way and further into hiding. The phoenix does not know how to stop any longer, not when a voice wails and cries out. Cries of a child take her back, back into haunting memories of when she was left helpless and alone. Made to suffer at the hands of others, of those who wanted to perfect her, to purify her, to cleanse her, to punish her for the sins of her parents; Moira remembers those dark, cold days now as the child cries out.
They beg them all to run, but her body has forgotten how to turn away. Most healers of the Tonnerre clan would only go where needed. That part of her does not demand she see the child and fix her. It is not what drives her. It is the memories - always the memories - that come back around and push and push until dams are bursting and freezing and there are torrential storms within to raise the dead she’s buried so far underground.
Not far enough.
Never far enough.
Soon, all too soon the mists curl and thin. Eyes peer at her, and they are the damnable gazes of the Tonnerres leering at the little girl with chained wings. They are the monsters sent to terrify a child and ensure she never steps out of line, that she knows her place no matter the cost.
Then they are charging and her heart is pounding and for a moment, only a moment, Moira is stuck, ensnared, unable to fight back. She is a girl again waiting for the other boot to fall, for the plucking of feathers, the heat searing skin, the chains to tie her to the ground for and eternity until she has no desire to taste the sky and let it fill her breast with clouds.
A phantom claw nearly catches her, and then, the phoenix explodes. Light pours from the freckling of stars upon her back, a galaxy upon her skin. It spears out, it solidifies into scythes and swords and pale spears. Moira’s mouth is a grim line. The Arabian girl is a wisp of a thing compared to the nearly massless monsters. They pile atop one another to form goliaths, and still her fear is a frozen thing, trapped inside a cage of ice to pound and pound at the surface, unable to break free and push her away from the danger.
She comes near a trunk where a girl cowers, where a beast lunges, and Moira throws herself into the side of it, breaths coming in soft pants now. Once Cally has no threat looming above her, the phoenix turns and moves into the mists once more, her spearing light trailing like a blaze of fire.
And she tells herself, over and over, I am Moira Tonnerre, daughter of the great Tonnerre Estate, and I will not be afraid.
"Speech"
notes: Moira chooses to fight!
They are not hers to keep.
Others move forward, pushing mists into her face, pushing creatures out of the way and further into hiding. The phoenix does not know how to stop any longer, not when a voice wails and cries out. Cries of a child take her back, back into haunting memories of when she was left helpless and alone. Made to suffer at the hands of others, of those who wanted to perfect her, to purify her, to cleanse her, to punish her for the sins of her parents; Moira remembers those dark, cold days now as the child cries out.
They beg them all to run, but her body has forgotten how to turn away. Most healers of the Tonnerre clan would only go where needed. That part of her does not demand she see the child and fix her. It is not what drives her. It is the memories - always the memories - that come back around and push and push until dams are bursting and freezing and there are torrential storms within to raise the dead she’s buried so far underground.
Not far enough.
Never far enough.
Soon, all too soon the mists curl and thin. Eyes peer at her, and they are the damnable gazes of the Tonnerres leering at the little girl with chained wings. They are the monsters sent to terrify a child and ensure she never steps out of line, that she knows her place no matter the cost.
Then they are charging and her heart is pounding and for a moment, only a moment, Moira is stuck, ensnared, unable to fight back. She is a girl again waiting for the other boot to fall, for the plucking of feathers, the heat searing skin, the chains to tie her to the ground for and eternity until she has no desire to taste the sky and let it fill her breast with clouds.
A phantom claw nearly catches her, and then, the phoenix explodes. Light pours from the freckling of stars upon her back, a galaxy upon her skin. It spears out, it solidifies into scythes and swords and pale spears. Moira’s mouth is a grim line. The Arabian girl is a wisp of a thing compared to the nearly massless monsters. They pile atop one another to form goliaths, and still her fear is a frozen thing, trapped inside a cage of ice to pound and pound at the surface, unable to break free and push her away from the danger.
She comes near a trunk where a girl cowers, where a beast lunges, and Moira throws herself into the side of it, breaths coming in soft pants now. Once Cally has no threat looming above her, the phoenix turns and moves into the mists once more, her spearing light trailing like a blaze of fire.
And she tells herself, over and over, I am Moira Tonnerre, daughter of the great Tonnerre Estate, and I will not be afraid.
notes: Moira chooses to fight!
