intention erased

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The implications of what Samuel was surrendering over gave him pause; not like their magical adornments or items at all, but things imbedded, infused, with their forms. Far more valuable than swords catching flame, or vessels that absorbed incantations, because the Ascendeds were fused into them, real and tangible, but not as easy to pluck away. Likely done purposefully, the Voice’s machinations at work, so her brightened children couldn’t be so easily rendered into destruction. Except when they volunteered them away. The weight of the decision, of Samuel’s sacrifices, wouldn’t go unnoticed, and he certainly wouldn’t simply take and leave him with naught in return. “I have removed limbs before,” while not the greatest line, and probably well-predicted anyway, he carried on, thoughts rendered on Amun’s hand. “I can replace them, make you a prosthetic.” He tilted his head, nearly cat-like, a predator’s machinations toiling, mulling over the possibilities. Metallic fingers or limb in general, other figments and fabrications Samuel would prefer. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace