intention erased

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Silent, he watched as motions healed and Zuriel purposefully snorted in Samuel’s direction, irritated at the lack of attention. She lifted her head once, shaking her head amidst indignation, before wandering off again, inspecting floorboards. But Deimos was waiting for something else, besides the acknowledgments, or the prospects of the Ascended’s relief. His brows furrowed slightly, piercing eyes narrowed at the glove, pondering the lengths of the strands he’d pulled, the enchantments he’d laced and lanced within. On a whim, he maneuvered smaller books nearby, scattered them on the table. “It should do more than that.” He hadn’t given Samuel something that merely existed, covering missing limbs; he’d done more for a sacrificial rite. The beast leaned back in his chair again, arms crossed over his chest, wondering how best to decipher the means stored in its nature. “Try moving those?” A suggestion, not quite a command or demand, curious to see if he’d infused it correctly or not; it’d been a long time since the ability had been segmented, stretched, or synched with the rest of his incantations. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace