M O I R A
she looks into her mirror,
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Resting just on her tongue is the flavor of home, of a beautiful and cruel creatures that would fillet you to the bone and then coddle you in silk and ribbons all in the span of a sentence. The phoenix can still feel their hungry fingers on the edge of her wings, the way they crept forward and plucked what was hers, took away a future that could have been and now might never be; she still remembers how they pulled her mother's happiness from her heart as well, leaving a firebird in a cage to burn herself out for the sake of an unforgiving family with traditions that outdated even the stones upon which they lived. Yet, when he whispers of the splendor and magic, of the longing in her heart, she cannot help the sliver of a bitter smile than slips onto her wine red lips.
There indeed is a crease upon her brow and ghosts in her eyes as she looks to her companion an the constellations lain at her feet. "Sometimes I do. Their libraries were splendid, but even these lands have their charms. I think I'd rather miss you and my heart might ache should you ever leave." So quiet is the admission, hidden by lashes fluttering down, down, down upon cheeks that burn once more. She wonders if he caught it, if he hears the thundering of her heart like a million feet upon stairs. Time to dwell is not granted, instead she sweeps into the doorway. Before them, sconces on the wall light a smaller corridor meant more for those behind the scenes - faces that are never seen yet remain employed by the castle for their keep. The unsung heroes scuttling through the shadows.
That she enters through such unmarked passages speaks to her thoughts of her worth, her usefulness. Moira does not seek fame nor fortune within the walls of Denocte, merely a home to help within and a bed to rest her head upon when the time comes at night. More shadows greet them as she leads him into another corridor, another narrow hall that seems smaller and less lit than the last. Along the edges, small alcoves dip off with curtains covering old portraits or and doorways, hiding secrets the castle has kept for many, many years. No one walks this chilly hall, it is unused by even the most secretive in Denocte. The phoenix does not mind, but she also does not speak so that those that rest are not awoken by their passing.
Turning off into an alcove at last, a curtain is moved to the side and a door unlatched. Beckoning him through to warmer smells and brighter sounds, Moira smiles and dips her head. Curly hair falls out of its braid, tickles her cheek, her chin. "This way, the cook is rather fond of me. After the floods I helped to find their little one and patch him and his toy soldiers up. We'll get something fresh, something warm!" As warmth the corridor stole returns to her skin, her chin lifts with the crinkling of her eyes. Quickly she ushers Asterion through a final room, a final hallway, and at last they emerge within the bustling bowels of the castle. Great fires in the center hold bread and sweet rolls, boil stew and other delicacies in smaller pots on smaller fires near the far wall.
Moira hears a gleeful yell from somewhere to the right, behind scuttling feet, and soon a pink faced, large-bellied woman with pale skin and dark hair comes to pull her tight against their bossom. 'Mo! Sweet little healer girl yeh've been away from me table for too long. Come, come step in ! And yehve brought a man, a suitor perhaps? He's handsome and would make yeh a fine husband. You're too lonely in that old library full of dust and cobwebs - I've sent me boy there to find yeh and he's come back a near mummy before, don't tell me otherwise. Oh, but I bet yeh want those rolls mm? Or some stew, you're cold as ice child! Come, come.'
A plump hand reaches out to try and pull Asterion along as well, and all Moira can do is throw him a helpless, charmed smile and follow along. Hulda pulls her with ease, setting her up against a long, wooden table off to the side where others on break smile and wave warmly. It is here, in these four walls that Moira has hidden herself away where she can hear the gossip and keep up on what's happening within the palace. The sick bay only tells her so much, there is so much more she needs to be aware of. Eluoan taught her to be a good healer she must be aware of all situations in the place she lives and even beyond that. If a war brews, she must know. If a ship is lost at sea, she must know. If the crops fail, she must know. And so she's found another nest of gossiping women and chipper faced young boys that glance at her and her large, wide eyes, her long lashes and neatly kept hair. They're eager to talk, to let her into their home and join her at the table. But she saves the seat beside her for Asterion and pushes a teacup into his spot so that he, too, could chase the chill from his bones.
Sipping on her own nettle and honey tea, Moira lets her eyes roam over Asterion's ribs and sunken cheeks. Hulda would fatten him up if she had any say in it. "She means well, don't take those marriage comments too seriously." Embarrassed, the woman hides behind her teacup. No one at home pushed for marriage, and now that Hulda's practically adopted Moira as her own she frets over the phoenix woman endlessly. Then again, Moira Tonnerre has never brought another to the kitchens like this outside of Isra, let alone a man.
@Asterion this got away with me, I apologize !
wishing someone could hear her, so loud
Resting just on her tongue is the flavor of home, of a beautiful and cruel creatures that would fillet you to the bone and then coddle you in silk and ribbons all in the span of a sentence. The phoenix can still feel their hungry fingers on the edge of her wings, the way they crept forward and plucked what was hers, took away a future that could have been and now might never be; she still remembers how they pulled her mother's happiness from her heart as well, leaving a firebird in a cage to burn herself out for the sake of an unforgiving family with traditions that outdated even the stones upon which they lived. Yet, when he whispers of the splendor and magic, of the longing in her heart, she cannot help the sliver of a bitter smile than slips onto her wine red lips.
There indeed is a crease upon her brow and ghosts in her eyes as she looks to her companion an the constellations lain at her feet. "Sometimes I do. Their libraries were splendid, but even these lands have their charms. I think I'd rather miss you and my heart might ache should you ever leave." So quiet is the admission, hidden by lashes fluttering down, down, down upon cheeks that burn once more. She wonders if he caught it, if he hears the thundering of her heart like a million feet upon stairs. Time to dwell is not granted, instead she sweeps into the doorway. Before them, sconces on the wall light a smaller corridor meant more for those behind the scenes - faces that are never seen yet remain employed by the castle for their keep. The unsung heroes scuttling through the shadows.
That she enters through such unmarked passages speaks to her thoughts of her worth, her usefulness. Moira does not seek fame nor fortune within the walls of Denocte, merely a home to help within and a bed to rest her head upon when the time comes at night. More shadows greet them as she leads him into another corridor, another narrow hall that seems smaller and less lit than the last. Along the edges, small alcoves dip off with curtains covering old portraits or and doorways, hiding secrets the castle has kept for many, many years. No one walks this chilly hall, it is unused by even the most secretive in Denocte. The phoenix does not mind, but she also does not speak so that those that rest are not awoken by their passing.
Turning off into an alcove at last, a curtain is moved to the side and a door unlatched. Beckoning him through to warmer smells and brighter sounds, Moira smiles and dips her head. Curly hair falls out of its braid, tickles her cheek, her chin. "This way, the cook is rather fond of me. After the floods I helped to find their little one and patch him and his toy soldiers up. We'll get something fresh, something warm!" As warmth the corridor stole returns to her skin, her chin lifts with the crinkling of her eyes. Quickly she ushers Asterion through a final room, a final hallway, and at last they emerge within the bustling bowels of the castle. Great fires in the center hold bread and sweet rolls, boil stew and other delicacies in smaller pots on smaller fires near the far wall.
Moira hears a gleeful yell from somewhere to the right, behind scuttling feet, and soon a pink faced, large-bellied woman with pale skin and dark hair comes to pull her tight against their bossom. 'Mo! Sweet little healer girl yeh've been away from me table for too long. Come, come step in ! And yehve brought a man, a suitor perhaps? He's handsome and would make yeh a fine husband. You're too lonely in that old library full of dust and cobwebs - I've sent me boy there to find yeh and he's come back a near mummy before, don't tell me otherwise. Oh, but I bet yeh want those rolls mm? Or some stew, you're cold as ice child! Come, come.'
A plump hand reaches out to try and pull Asterion along as well, and all Moira can do is throw him a helpless, charmed smile and follow along. Hulda pulls her with ease, setting her up against a long, wooden table off to the side where others on break smile and wave warmly. It is here, in these four walls that Moira has hidden herself away where she can hear the gossip and keep up on what's happening within the palace. The sick bay only tells her so much, there is so much more she needs to be aware of. Eluoan taught her to be a good healer she must be aware of all situations in the place she lives and even beyond that. If a war brews, she must know. If a ship is lost at sea, she must know. If the crops fail, she must know. And so she's found another nest of gossiping women and chipper faced young boys that glance at her and her large, wide eyes, her long lashes and neatly kept hair. They're eager to talk, to let her into their home and join her at the table. But she saves the seat beside her for Asterion and pushes a teacup into his spot so that he, too, could chase the chill from his bones.
Sipping on her own nettle and honey tea, Moira lets her eyes roam over Asterion's ribs and sunken cheeks. Hulda would fatten him up if she had any say in it. "She means well, don't take those marriage comments too seriously." Embarrassed, the woman hides behind her teacup. No one at home pushed for marriage, and now that Hulda's practically adopted Moira as her own she frets over the phoenix woman endlessly. Then again, Moira Tonnerre has never brought another to the kitchens like this outside of Isra, let alone a man.
@Asterion this got away with me, I apologize !
