intention erased

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Zuriel snorted again, purposefully indignant, and likely would’ve stepped away had she not been there to heal the Ascended. There were a few warnings passed between unicorn and Sword, before she seemed to settle into a curl of her lips, a half-snarl to either of them. If she flicked her tail rapidly and it hit Samuel, she’d admit to nothing. Deimos wasn’t sure if he expected Samuel to accept the offer, or pass it off, and they could sit, meander, and do nothing in silence, in hushed platitudes with naught but the lifeforce collecting in the jar. He might’ve preferred the latter, but given Samuel’s apprehensive ambience, sacrificial alms, and everything else notched in between, the General could stand to revel in some discomfort. But without any other cue, save for the go-ahead, he’d be forced to dig into personal experiences. Which meant violence, vehemence, vitriol, animosity, and years upon years of built-up hostility between kingdoms, countries, and terrains. “I have plenty of war stories.” An arch to his brow, a tilt of his head followed after the rumble in his tones, merely to watch and see what happened in Samuel’s expression. There might have been a smirk or a snicker embedded along his features too, suddenly amused by the potential. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace