―― 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃

😘❤️

damn

you materialize in the corner of my eye like sephiroth

* 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ?

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐘 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 // you are the crescendo, a never-ending strength which arouses great power and love within. you feel immensely, intensely, and every surface you touch is laden with love-- but beware, one must not cross you. your ardor knows no bounds and your symphony echoes on. you bring tears to one's eyes when they look at you too long and you inflict hope within tragedy. you are the end-all-be-all, but you are not to be mistaken in fear-- people cannot help feeling everything at once when they meet you, for you are the cosmos which blinds the oblivious and gifts the shadows light. your song : elegies of thule no. 3 by tonu korvits

👍 gib hc pls uwu

☆.*･｡ﾟ  𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃-𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍

Send 👍 for a random headcanon I have about our muses.@moonichor universe : versus xiii

1 )  when they were little, stella would often follow luna around and mimic everything she did. from picking flowers to memorizing religious, heck she even started wearing white when she was a child because her pretty lunar sister did. naturally, if luna was to given attention to any other kid close to stella’s age, the star princess would surely sulk. needless to say, as children they were still pretty close to one another. i’m sure there were times where they shared the same bed and ate sweets together when no one was watching. not to mention the many joyous little pranks they might do teaming up against their older brother. as little children, they would definitely play dress up together and talk about their fairy-tales happy endings (clearly not yet understanding how unfair life will one day be ). but nevertheless, before stella’s accidents they were very close and super happy as siblings.

2 ) unfortunately all good things must end, and as you know the two sisters would eventually be separated. luna and ravus likely did not know that stella woke up from her coma until months afterwards. and even then, it wasn’t until they saw her again that they were cautioned not to bring up the subject of their parents out of fear she would break down and repress even more memories. it was likely a very difficult first reunion and it was obvious this stella was not the same little stella that used to follow her sister around. nevertheless, stella would try her best to get close to her siblings and learn all that she could about them. even if stella is having a hard time adjusting herself, she would try to get luna to cheer up and smile because her sister is much more beautiful when her lips matches the crescent of the moon. she might not be able to give luna the same flower as she did when she was younger, but the first thing stella painted for luna was that of her favorite flower. she still remembers.

3 ) once stella tried to get luna to be more tech-savy, insisted that emails are much more faster and even tried to get luna to use the most modern phone. luna, however, preferred the tenebrae nokia traditional phone that lacked the modern functions. needless to say, stella’s attempt to make luna more “up-to-date” failed completely and out of pettiness stella would instead write correspondence to luna rather than just call her. hilariously enough, luna is completely fine with it and probably prefers the handwritten sentiments rather then the digital messages. letters from stella consist mainly of her complaining about her day to day, the most ridiculous over-exaggeration, and frankly i’m sure even luna would face palm at her sister’s terrible lack of financial control.

4 ) stella and luna totally shit-talks about people lol.

5 ) once stella tried to teach luna how to paint the dog form of pryna, and when they showed it to gentiana, gentiana complimented luna’s cloud.

6 ) the two of them are quite protective of each other, and anyone who courts their sister must first pass a few of their criteria. stella, unfortunately does not play fair, and gives anyone who looks at her sister the hardest time ever. she may not be as bad as ravus, but she is certainly his sister lol.

7 ) these two sister love each other unconditionally and would in fact sacrifice each other’s happiness so that the other can be happy. 

8 ) lol at that realization that these two are pawns to two asshole king of gods ---- who probably have beef since the cosmos cant handle two asshole king of gods who wants to control everything. so we’re just pretending that everyone is totally okay and that it won’t end so terribly right. nothing bad is going to happen right ? bahamut and bhunivelze can totally co-exist and not drag their favorite pawns into depressing stuff... right..

9 ) number 5 is my favorite.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐃 , 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐋𝐘.    when the heavens laughed, the hysteria would thrust its cosmic authority underneath the skin like a stubborn malady.  you sought out the moon, coldly engaged in her distant waltz, and like typhon, you sought her out as prey to crack open that which shall entrap you inside its very cells.  this must be a mere star-riddled jest, a divine comedy akin to a dream from which you and her shall waken, but it came closer to a puppet-play rendered by and for one sadistic observer who wanted to see them flail, limp to the ground, and then tried the scenario the other way around.

she flickered like a temporary gleam upon glass, a specter woven of celestial taint, every peeking gaze was a glimpse of yours, a steady mimicry of motion locking symmetrically into you.  where the light shone, therein fell the shadow, and she was one of bleached darkness.  the inverse of death was the birth of something apocalyptic, the fear of it.  the fear of birth was a fear of someone’s arrival.  they repurposed you to an antichrist within messiah flesh, a repetition of history, replay of a replay. a cycle that shan’t ever break in two.  from your ankles she then squirmed loose, asymmetrical fleck struggling across dirtying rock, composing her ragged breaths.  the inverse shadow would still hold onto more shadows, the host urging to get rid of her.

a body could not be without the casting of its contour, so what would occur upon the law-breaking success of such amputation ?  the collapse of an atom ?  the erasure of information which could usually not be erased ?  she did not plan to allow these impossibilities to become phenomena, not without efforts made with blood and tears and sweat.  “ noctis, please, listen to me ! ”  she called upon you when you called upon her.  although she stumbled back up warily, within cyan there sparked some irrational hope, some desperate venture for a dying light. when the heavens laughed, the hysteria stringed two puppets into their play and surrounded them with night-bred daimons who blended their hell into the stage. // @royalarms

WRETCHED ARE THE KINGS THAT SERVE DARKNESS FROM THEIR HAUNTING TONGUES . he's traveled so far on his lonesome , his only company : the ghastly words that cut through his mind & the lead of the snow - white messenger that blinds him in the darkness , the north star that beckons him unto the moon . there is an ever - looming presence of pain that taunts him from his every joint , & every wear at his muscles . it feels heavy , like its seeping through his flesh & corrupting him from the inside , just waiting to reach his veins in crooked efforts toward inevitable possession .

. . . [ luna . ]

he battles these ' thoughts ' on a near - constant basis , beckoning them toward the light of his soul so that they may be washed away with it . the battles are ceaseless , however , & one man can only endure for so long . at times , they have their way with him , all - consumed , & he plays the role of their vessel . a puppet strung to their fucked up marionette .

. . . [ luna . ]

even now , he follows pryna's guide as she warps into something threatening , something evil , & he strives so hard to dismiss the awry transformation , but it the ability to do so seems so far away from him . everything feels so real . this false illusion of existence , a reality warped in the throes of nightfall . their rage lights a flame , crimson , beneath his eyes , irises glowing through the dimness of their surroundings & his only goal [ luna ] distorts into something monstrous .

' i have to get to . . . '

& he looks down to see a girl in white , defending herself . against . . . who ? . . . him ? shit . . . dusk has fallen & his scream tears through the atmosphere .

. . . ❛ LUNA ! ❜

@moonichor

   *  //   𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐆 .

NOVEMBER 19TH,   1970,   18:27PM ███████ MANOR,   WESTCHESTER COUNTY,   NEW YORK,   UNITED STATES.

ZERO:   𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎,  𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔. BIG BOSS:   𝚒’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜. ZERO:   𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚜,  𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍,  𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢.    𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚋𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜.    𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘,  𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔.    𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎. BIG BOSS:   𝚒’𝚖 𝚗𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘,  𝚍𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚍.    𝚒’𝚖 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍-𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚛. ZERO:   𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔,  𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎.    𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚎𝚜.    𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚌𝚘𝚗,  𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛      ——      𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚗𝚞𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚘𝚗,  𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚋. BIG BOSS:    [𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐] ZERO:   𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚒𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗.    𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍.    𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚝.    𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎,  𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚊𝚜𝚖,  𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.    𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜,  𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐈𝐒  𝐇𝐎𝐖  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃    𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇   𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉   𝒂   𝒕𝒆𝒏   𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅   𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒓    champagne flute in your hand,  putting a convenient face whilst mingling  ‘midst a room of serpents and pink-cheeked sycophants,  the crowd of self-christened ‘elites’.    here you are,  their  concocted idol,  exchanging  forced smiles  and  ingratiating salutations  with utmost reticence as they gather around you like a  band of hawks   /   suffocate you   /   make you feel  less  like a man and more like a dangling pound of  fresh meat  on display for the ravening masses,  salivating   /   eager to feast off  carrion fame.    you nod mechanically   /   uncomfortably,  move out of every casual touch,  a drunken shoulder clap,  a girl trying to chat you up      ——      they are  blind  to the blood clots  on your teeth   /   the hands smirched  red-matricide-regret   /   the mutilating grief transmogrifying your heart into one great abscess    [    it refuses to go away.    ]      ——      you do not need their emptied congratulations,  seeds of anger sprouting at the accursed title of ‘big boss’ spilling reverently from forked tongues,  an epithet so sorely  pyrrhic-won.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐇  𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓  𝐅𝐎𝐑  𝐘𝐎𝐔.     you have never been good at feigning  normalcy,  wearing ill-fitting human skin,  civilian clothes unbecoming of a man that wild.    you feel like a twarthed   /   naked   /   trapped animal.    (    no,  you don’t need any of it      ——      what you need is to clear your head because your chest is too tight,  the crowd is  too close   /   too loud,  they are taking up all the oxygen and it’s gotten too hard to breathe and you want to escape   /   lash out   /   rip at muscle and bone and claw your way out before you   -    )    check your blindspot,  case the room  :   there is no clear through-line to the exit.    east,  there is a door      ——      but you cannot say where it leads.    (    better to make for the kitchen,  take your chances in the service tunnels.    they checked your gun at the door,  but you’ve made do with  a knife  in worse situations.    you   -    )    see a window of retreat near the banquet table.    you turn,  make your way there in a hurried stride,  wholly undismayed by the expressions of annoyance you receive at the  rudeness  of your escape. 𝒚𝒐𝒖   𝒄𝒂𝒏   𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆   𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒕’𝒔   𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒆   𝒐𝒏   𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓   𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌    as you evade the throng of bodies and approach a lengthy table brimming with saccharine delicacies.    you stop   /   breath   /   tamp down  instincts  to flee when the burgeoning leonine hunger pangs.    frowning,  you stare at the multicolored appetisers   /   most of which you have never seen before   /   till you take a pair of  meat skewers  and start gnawing at them like a  beast of prey.    a sudden presence at your side provokes chin to rise   /   eye to meet a crown of gold,  wintry blues  peering at you under the heliacal glow of a crystalline chandelier,  and you   -    (    remember the passive  coldness  of her face,  standing in that field as white petals whipped around your ankles.    she gave  her body  and  her child  to her country,  carried her scar as proof,  was willing to mactate herself upon  flowered altars  for a purpose beyond comprehension.    how does she expect you to do the  same  ?    you don’t understand,  you   -    )    see red,  press your eye shut but the petals remain,  like they’re stuck to the flesh of your eyelid.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇   /   𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃   /   𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘,    shake your head      ——      she is not here.    she is dead.    this is reality.    you turn back to your food   /   get a proper sidelong look at the woman,  recognize her  for who she truly is  ;   lunafreya nox fleuret,  the  sovereign  of a protectorate in the middle of a political scuffle,  more of a  figurehead  on their machinations than a queen    [    much like you.    ]    her brother is a soldier,  acting as her dutiful custodian      ——      you recall shaking his hand briefly in the crowd,  he seemed as  disinclined  to be here as you.    you store the  information  away   /   attempt to be conversational:             ❛    leurs brochettes ne sont pas mauvaises.    mais je préfère encore manger du serpent que ça.    ❜    you say,  french fluently falling off your lips without much pondering.

@moonichor

𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 :   painted thickly with a layer of varnish, framed in pale fools gold  —  and she, a simple corner ornament.  she was made for this ;  noble-bred, a carefully hand-crafted icon.  wrought for the masses and self-appointed deities to utilize.  they seized and struggled for symbols in order to secure the slightest figment of influence, and if it were not over her, then they would compete over someone else.  they picked their gemstones to toss in the treasure chamber, leaving them without the glimmer, adulterating them within the shadowy obscurities, never to be seen on the television screen.  their ghastly tongues prattled inconceivably, in unison, to attribute to a synchronized white noise. 

with appetite did they seek her attention, too ;  ignorant of the tattered brims which remained proof of military sin and the crime to weaponize innocence like a volatile explosive.  it was a slow killing of a girl who had come to understand this as the typical behavior of hierarchical leeches, demonstrating their feigned relief to have just barely so slipped through the war-cracks.  of course, this was merely show, as they so blithely monetized the shed gore and radioactive bones.  this enormous gauge of politics spanned itself over each head, slithered with haughty threat, ‘twixt the pillars of it all where one specific chancellor watched over every singular motion of hers.  in sickening amounts so, that she urged to swiftly disappear among the crowd, toward the other side of these halls where she found …  you.    (  a trojan paradox, agonized with frauds, and praises for valor, and terrible expectations.  )    curiosity begged for satisfaction and dictated her walk, feather-light, beside you, only to sense a deeply rooted pain projected and carved into her marble-frozen apparition.

then  —  a perplexing dialogue.

“ pardon ? ”    unexpectedly widened brows and eyelids for commentary this macabre.  she fell through clouds.  etiquette quickly revised and staggering back into composure.  here she stood, not a single inch moved, silver-graced and primly kept, soft-handed and crystal-adorned —  in audience with a beast :    a rawed-up, wild child, clad in a man’s muscular structure, bearing its patron status like an ill-fitting crown, which it’s been so compelled to remove.  aggressively.  something equivalent to horror and awe struck her still, an astonished sentiment, existing between a deer and a bear.  suddenly, illogically, her personal tatteredness did not matter.  someone was always frayed more crudely, the eyes more bloodshot, the lungs more filled with desert-dust, the flowerbeds more stained with a carmine shade.    “ vous semblez être un homme avec un sens du goût incomparable. ”    at last, a response to indulge the attempt.  it might also be her individual attempt to shake off the paralyzation.    “ forgive me if it was my approach that caused you to jolt.   but you gave the impression to be in distress.  are you unwell, sir ? ”

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 ;    whilst this defied her suchness as celestial body, orbit-shackled to natural arrangements.  selene was born to catch fallen stars ;  to keep a globe in place which long refused order, one so desperate to shatter and drown into its self-inflicted calamities, its wars, its addictions for her crystalline tears to numb the powerlessness.  burdens unbeknownst to you, this maiden child, too, had yet to taste cinder, touch fire, behold a blaze, whereas it was her utmost purpose to witness the world wholly in all its terrific stages, and to accept all impending marring.  she was not to be spared, she was to be wrought for gods.  this sisterhood required both children to be people, but they soon would find each other bereft of human components.  nevermore an exchange of delights, caught in the midst of crossfires one so young be far too naive to. a day so dreadful she enclosed her little star between her arms and hoped for this week to ever last.  freeze into stasis /  safely eternal  / sheltered and unstained.    " no one will, i'm afraid.  it's always been you, and you will always be the one i shall share desserts and pick flowers with.  but you needn't fret over me.  i learn to take care of myself— "    little effort was invested to repress trembling breath, a rasp song of lament.  (  still but a child.  still a sister.  )    " promise me to be good. " 

𝐍𝐎𝐗 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐋𝐒. the moon to the stars. the virtuous to the luxuriate. one bounded by bygone oath and the other a mere spare. in this soliloquy adorned by destiny, unknowing asteria can only cling to her own frustration. her discontent immerging from childish inconvenience, unable to let go the sister to whom she held so dear. the mere embodiment of youthful ignorance, the tips of starlight's fingers only knows how to flee. runaway and hide, while shrinking away from any known responsibility. she simply could not understand, for how could she when you had shielded her wings so that she may know flight. always always so selfless, how could she see anything passed the obedience you solemnly shoulder —— you are still a child, selene. you are. you are her sister first, before you were someone else's oracle.

❝ ——what if i give you all my pudding cups, can't you stay more then a week ? ❞ see how she begs, her pouty lips bartering her known delights. ❝ i don't want to share you. who else is going to pick flowers with you and sneak the strawberry candy to you during prayer time ? ❞ such a spoiled child, yet genuine all the same. ❝ sometimes you forget to eat too, so who is going to take care of you all the way over there if we are all here ? it's so silly. ❞

Luna → Light

@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. “

  *   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.

* 𝑯𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑨 𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑩𝑹𝑼𝑺 𝑰 :    𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎 .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 :   the lush lands of the now-known tenebrae had been one of ruin and darkness long ago.  in the pre-historic age was humanity bestowed with fire, and the waters followed.  as ifrit would gift his sparks, leviathan would gift riverflow.  civilizations would be built with each those tools, but they never ceased their fascination for astronomy and selenology.  where the sun would obtain patron status would man establish solheim, the home of the sun ;  where they would revere the moon, they would establish maniheim, the home of the moon ;  where they would ask the stars for guidance, was the seat of the stjarna people.  maniheim’s and stjarna’s societies were interlocked and influenced each other with their belief in the afterlife, crossroads and prophecies, and had closer relations with each other than with solheim.  and though all three had different celestial objects in focus, they would all greet the dawn warmly.  the global population would worship eos the most as the mother of life.

while solheim was not the only civilization to rise to power, it was the last one to connect people before the astral war split nations apart with babylonic impact.  long has the war lasted and none of their social structures survived.  an era of turmoil gave rise to the darkness that people would soon interpret as the curse of the stars.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐎-𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑 :    during the time of war emerged factions, and the messengers of defeated deity fell from heaven right into the ruins of civilization. some of them, lingering upon maniheim-soil which would simply become known as the "dark land", fell in love with humans and procreated, their offspring dubbed the children of sin.  the line of the fleurets began with skadi, a daughter of sin, born of eos' messenger and a wintery man who originated from the western parts of the continent. she would wander over barren hills, hear the voices of angels, and grew up distanced from her peers.  years pass and she hardly shown any signs of aging, her father long lost to plague and her mother executed. ere she, too, would beget a child with a mortal does bahamut's messenger find her and announce the punishment for her and her descendants : ever shall this blood of molten dawn and rotten light that understands the word of gods bear this burden till the last one falls. ever shall the sons of eos and the daughters of her messenger be the token of guilt.  the draconian shall claim the crossing between clay and ichor.

while skadi had not been bahamut's chosen blood, her daughters and granddaughters would evolve traits closest to the soon-to-appear first oracle aera and her sister gullveig. and gullveig, she'd one day beget another line of descendants with another messenger : selene's.