*  𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 ?  

{♦}

Before this moon shall darken, say of me :      “ 𝐒𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄, 𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄. ”

𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐀 𝐍𝐎𝐗 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐓 PORTRAYAL INSPIRED BY MYTHOLOGY.   credits :  graphic / artist

Details: Portrait of Urania, 19th century, British School.

  *   𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 .

i.    tenebrae’s native tongue is based on icelandic and french.

ii.    luna is not gifted in drawing, and frankly is horrible at it, but it still belongs to one of her hobbies, along with journaling and gardening.  she tends to more abstract painting, simply for a creative outlet that requires not much technical skill.

iii.    her artistic affiliation is rather defined by singing, which is more a religious practice as oracle, hence there is only rarely a personal attachment and pride in her angelic voice.  she can barely tend to her favorites of traditional tenebraen folk songs and naturally has to participate in choirs and sacred ceremonies.  as a child, she began to despise singing, and would’ve continued so, had there not been a few examples she could sing in private :  1  /  2  /  3.

iv.    that car scene in kingsglaive where she would take control of the wheel was improvised.  she doesn’t have a license.

v.    she had a grandmother called freyja and was named after her.

vi.    she favors perfumes with mild floral scents, not too sweet or overwhelming, uses them as per her mood, not necessarily the same every day, and tends to experiment.  one day she wears fragrance made from sylleblossom extracts, on another one from lilies or jasmine.

vii.    it is evident that she does not keep sylleblossoms in her room at all times.  perchance the decoration varies from blue poppies, gentianas, or yellow / purple oxeye daisies, whatever the seasons provide.  

viii.    while she is most often seen in white or silvery dresses, she does like to wear black or blue as well.

ix.    for the most part, obviously, her relationship with niflheim’s military is one of suspicion and hostility.  however, there was one soldier who stood watch over her not very long after the invasion, guarded her closely and soon became more a father she never had.  the one exception she made in terms of trusting the wrong side.  the crescent-shaped pendant is an item he gifted to her on her 16th birthday.  one day, he vanished, and luna was left alone with a report of him to be presumed dead.

x.    if there is an alternative timeline where luna survives, she would return to a shorter haircut.

Send ‘K’ for a kiss from my muse.

@hikarizora​  :   She's going to flatter her uwu

“ and i am humbled, truly.  but who am i to accept flattery when you are deserving of it yourself ?  if i may be so bold to admit, you are rather beautiful. “

Aphelion • Jesper Kyd feat. Melissa Kaplan

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.

You know what would have been neat ? A dramatic wedding scenario

url change from moonichor to selenorites