Last Night / The Moon Was Trying To Fall From The Sky / None Of The Experts Knew How To Explain It /

Melancholia - Yoko Shimomura. Final Fantasy XV.

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    SEL ACCEPTING .

‘  i can offer you my heart, though i have no idea how many more beats it shall sustain. ’    //    @fenrirch​

𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 ?    mayhaps, because she was never meant for either ;  a woman too holy to stay    /    too holy for life.  promised to the dictated cause, engaged with demise.  she'd liked to make an exception.  just this once, if she may.  once in private where the night of the living enshrouded mene, clung and held her ever-tightly, and she, in her pure besottedness, let it all happen.  all over again which could lead to a second confession and a third, until the guilt out-wore itself like an ill-fitting dress stripped from her hips, finished and scrapped from the obligation list.  she let this happen :    your arms needy and desperate around her waist.  all the whispers which only dim lights would bear witness to, and all the touches exuding scandal, shielded by the generous curtains of the hotel room from a stalking, hierarchical gaze.  she begged not for forgiveness, she did not apologize for the single action that might have kept her alive in place, when, otherwise, she would have so effortlessly slipped away from our fingers.

“ plenty of them, i hope. ”    a laugh pushed through a forced sicle-shape, the embarrassed flush of her cheeks no less romantic in nature.  it’s grit teeth rather than amusement.  the jaw clenched briefly, the sinew of her tender neck tense against your comforting breath.  how could one think of it as anything other than torment, knowing she would take that warrior’s heart with her into the grave, instead of soothing its harrow grief ?  yes, confessions were this terrible.  and still, she had counted your battle scars, the magic trails, each flaw and scratch.  lithe fingertips followed worn tissue to the crux of a violent pulse.  her hand atop, resting, because ophelia wanted something else than to float in the pond.  it was too cold in there.  she'd rather crawl ashore and be warmed up by another foolish jest of yours.  her sweet, heedless soldier with an eroding hero-complex.    “ you are such a silly man  —  why must you be this dramatic ? ”    though not overdone, for she simply did not wish to admit it.  but a holy woman was not meant for confessions, or for clumsy dancing after too many a glass of wine, or for a tender peck after too sweet a girlish giggle.  so you said what you said and tried your hardest to not kill her with it.  because love, as always, equated to religion, and religion called for death.  of course, you’d never let her go this far, but she would and you would indeed go this far, and you both knew this.

Luna → Light

“ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 , 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐓 , 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘.    they are sung as praise to heavenly objects and the salvation of the light which shall purify them of their blight, including our own agonizing world. ”    as though numerous times recited on command, the response swiftly slithered in resonance, words rolling off the tongue akin to doctrinal lecture.  she wished she could individualize it. she wished she cared for these melodies more than the duty thereof.  her fate, already a sealed verse, woven betwixt the lines. and she struggled --- she struggled, awfully so, to embody the very contents of what she sang : to simply hope with each awakened god.    “ along with ruins we find scattered around the eosian globe, those are the few remains of an era immemorial.  it is rare for anyone to understand this old language, and, therefore, not surprising if you find it more puzzling rather than coherent. even experts struggle to translate them.  my family has honored such hymns for centuries with the help of messengers, but—  if i may confide in you…  sometimes, i tire of them, just a little. ”

confession of a secret, carried in whispers behind closed doors, doubtfully stung any more than the fact of its existence ;  and to render herself vulnerable to one who proved himself ever so curious every day consisting of shared struggles and battles and rest, hardly shall be considered strange.  although in the eyes of seraphs this was unbecoming, why would she not do so, if not a single of your own words, disclosed within a silent moment between gunshots, could be forgotten ?  to her, this night still existed. your revealed wounds then still very visible, now obscured by your laughter and artificial confidence. and thus, it was one burden for another.  a fair trade which she wrapped in the pretense of a chuckle. “ don't judge me too harshly, okay ? ”

❝ —— the songs you sing, what do they even mean ? ❞ @moonichor

  *  //  𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐗𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑​ .

“ I cant exactly FIGHT those things and come out unscathed. I think it’s the BEST plan, all things considered, ” he offered, attempting to sound convincing. As skilled as he was, he was not SKILLED enough to hold his own against the demons that roamed the fields come NIGHTFALL. ASTRAL of ascended plane, LADY LUNA was voice of element and deity alike. A voice for the broken, a voice for the powerful - a voice for the ROYALS. So much representation settled upon shoulders, yet woman of grace had never once faltered. Hiro, young as he was, had NEVER met someone who braved the storm with NO weapon ( at least not one like his own ). He knew he didn’t belong near them - THEY that led the masses through the dark and represented hope in PHYSICAL form. Not ignorant, yet not fully immersed, little hunter toed the line between GUARDIAN and PAID PROTECTION. Though hurting for Gil in every sense of the concept, demand for coin was hardly spoken. He had offered to help free of ANY charge. Someone has to help. Distant words that advised, even from the ghosts of the past - just another whisper on the wind. Large eyes roamed the SKIES before finally landing on distant hue of HAVEN’S safe circlet. Polearm was shifted across shoulder, gloved digits curling tight in metallic grip.

“ Yeah - looks like it isn’t too FAR. I’ll lead the way. The FOG is gonna roll through soon, so stick close… ma’am. ” Manners - she wasn’t some plebeian like him. “ I don’t exactly have the BEST accommodations, but I’ve got a tent you can use, if you want ? I haven’t used it in a while - I more or less SLEEP tucked away somewhere. Just better HUNTING that way. ” He was silent for a moment before turning his head, looking over his shoulder to the other. Curiosity burned at the edges of his mind and he couldn’t help but ASK. “ So, I don’t really know how it WORKS - all of this traveling and communication. Isn’t it REALLY important that you make pacts with all of THEM ? I mean - you won’t get in TROUBLE for getting some help around here… will you ? ”

𝐈𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 , 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒 , 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐆𝐎 𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐃.    instead, it intensified the petrichor of trampled grass and the foot-printed earth, it levitated the rustle of foliage stirred by nesting robins, and amplified the wilderness’ presence.  as the distant, dusk-washed rocks howled with wariness for incoming hours, it should be clear without any mention, that she’d rather see a child safe and sound in its own house, than be company to a patron saint whose trails attracted gunpowder-bite and cosmogonic peril.  we could neither avoid questions about parental supervision in need of answers, such as :    why are you alone ?  what about your family ?  even so, what she failed to deny was the courage deeply ingrained within the intensity of your resolve, illustrated by the grip around weaponry ;  the potential to become someone greater, demonstrated by action in lieu of empty words.  who had then been so small, she predicted, would grow to a paragon for the next generation of children to aspire to.  and in identifying it so, it reminded her, ceaselessly, that hesitation must never corrupt her own gallantry.

whilst ascending the adorned ridge, she began :    “ you assume correctly.  every god and goddess must wake to assemble for the light of the crystal.  the world and the chosen need their aid, and their work plays a vital part in maintaining the riddance of chaos when the advent of triumph delivers us to dawn.  whether we help each other a little to achieve this, will, undoubtedly, not anger them.  fret not over any consequences thereafter. ”    haven-runes illuminated in reaction to arrival, aglow in cyan beneath a climbing heel, hasty to build a protective dome.  as her magic sparked fire within its respective boundaries, she did ponder, a dainty finger supported her chin.    “ i suggest we build the tent.  it is you who deserves to rest comfortably, after all, brave as you were today.  oh, additionally  —  there is little need for formalities.  you may call me, simply, luna. ”

The Burmese Harp (1956) dir. Kon Ichikawa.

Luna mancante avanti l'alba - Filippo Palizzi

" 𝐀𝐇 , 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃. how was your day, sephiroth ? would you indulge me with your tales ? " // @wingedcruelty

" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐒 ; or are the deeper interiors leading to the fayth something that unsettles you ? i noticed you have grown tense upon our visits. " // @reginrokkr