#EVA AND MOTH MOM FORCES UNITE

[liightbringr]

𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝.

@kismetwilled asked: The Queen stirs in her slumber. Bed of silk encases wounded form, still she wishes to reach out, to comfort and calm. Shepard. Guardian. Mother. She cannot abandon her charges. Even when they forget themselves. Even if they forget her. But in this solace, this pocket of calm before exhaustion claims her, Mothra feels another before her. Unique. Healing. Holy. Mothra shifts to allow compound eyes to shine their cerulean light through the fibers of her cocoon. To witness the brilliance of the soul before even in her obscured vision. ❝ You… you are different, yes? Brighter than the others… not of this world. ❞ Though voice is quiet it reverberates like a rolling thunder and yet it washes over like a warm breeze; mild and soothing. ❝ And yet… I feel a… familiarity between us. Protectors, you and I. Though as I am… I ca-cannot… ❞ Slowly the light from her eyes begins to fade, fatigue beginning to overtake her. ❝ But you, child, I… can help. If you would take up… my charge. ❞

𝐎'𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐒 && 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 -- what weave has found her now? To heed the call that brings her to this domain. Ancient energies && an existence that predates her own by millennia; it calls to her, reaches out for her like maternal refuge. A song of the multi-verse, transcendent light all-consuming. The way with which it settles over the flesh && melds to the very core of her being. It makes a home in the sinew, brings peace to the bones. Is this a sensation similar to feeling so immeasurably at home? The ship since battered against relentless swells, the pilgrim whose feet have since gone sore but the sight of their destination wills them in perseverance, or the soldier that looks upon the portrait of their beloved before a grueling battle so that they might find the mettle, the bravery, within them to press on--- the will to live. The Warrior of Light looks upon such beauteous display in awe, in wonder. Countless occasions have seen this warrior speechless or caught in the throes of her curiosity, for at the base of all that she is comprised of she so innately clings to her humanity. But it is also within this moment that familiarity washes over her in all-encompassing light && gives way to a breathlessness. As if the wave itself drags her under && leaves her at the mercy of its undertow before sparing her in the same instance. A sobering experience, a realization that she is not the only being of assimilated power. Of a light that could scorch no different than it can save. Eyes alike paradise fall upon the cocoon before her && its silken splendor. Wondrous blues of one's own are caught thereafter in the irrevocably comforting ones of the being hiding within the chrysalis thusly. Supple tiers part as though words might usher in an adequate conveyance, && yet the intention falls flat. To naught, she stands there in her awe still yet. For in the coming moment are words of an ancient tongue she should not know. && it occurs to her therein that this being allows her to understand. Two beings born of the cosmos && destined to defend it with their lives. && from her feet does she rise in a delicate imposition of one's own magical prowess. A small feat to bid herself aloft, suspended in the air as winding currents of wind circle around her ankles to sustain her hover. A better look at the creature that addresses her. But in that coming moment is a realization. This being has become one of her charges in a moment's notice. The rite of passage that is the safeguarding of the universe && existence beyond; the joining of higher purposes, the convergence of destinies like colliding stars. Time plays against her. She's not a fool. She sees the dimming of the light within, the exhaustion that bids the other to stillness. && it moves her to act. This boon would be hers to carry---it's like looking into a mirror in ways she cannot explain. "Let me lighten the load. I will bear the weight of our light as one." She's almost desperate to administer her aid, to bring about an end to the pain the other experiences. It's second nature, in truth. All of the times she has had to fight && still remains. Still here to be a beacon of hope for the hopeless. She made this choice so long ago && yet naught could sway the decision to cling fast to that mentality all the while. So she draws nearer to the cocoon. A plucking of leather from her hands, gloves removed so that the flesh might yield sincerity in the conforming of her palm to silk; she breathes deep what may come. Pain? Peace? Comfort? Would she be remade from the inside out && put together in the image of-- Mothra. Mothra? That's her name. A smile quirks at the corners of her lips. Small, but genuine evermore. Of pride && warmth. "I'm here."