dominoes of indiscretions down

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Audacity and brazen endeavors were contagious, infectious, a spiraling chasm and catalyst to broadening horizons and sojourning into the vivid wake. This he could understand: the great, vicious splendor and grandeur of another world, enigmas twisting, foundations crumbling, chaos and bedlam releasing its ether into the stretch of moss and undergrowth. It was foreign and unfamiliar, but the temptation of its earth was not, a vicious, fervent thing spreading its way into his ribs, lungs, and soul, moving with savage, sinister precision instead of the idle, listless contortions he’d immersed himself within. This was curiosity. This was intrigue. This was what he grasped in his fist and was unwilling to let go; defiance in motion, measures and Machiavellian tendencies permitted into a vast terrain, where he could seethe, where he could elude, challenge, and dare. His heart beat a violent crescendo, bristling and vehement, centering him on the ground, on the canopies, on the shadows, where his senses sank into the denizen and craved absolution, deliverance, sanctity, and treachery. He nodded towards Kiada, conspiring to her methods, to the talents she possessed. He wouldn’t be able to attain flight, but she could, clear out from high above, strike and spy, where he’d be on the ground, a forged weapon in his hand and in his invocations. It was an unspoken thing, a promise of bloodshed, annihilation, and ruin always on his teeth, his tongue, his lips; she’d know without him having to offer any regard. He was the Reaper – death and demise in his reach. Memories and the past swim along his gaze, and he half-expected to see fog brimming along the edges of the realm, a rolling mist sliding between them, consuming them, haunting them, strung in silence in case he could hear the rustle of waves breaking against the cliffs. I lost it, once, twice, three times over; wars fledged and furnished with no victories, the edge of the world and its glassy banners a staunch stain on his predilections. But it wasn’t Helovia’s reaches, not her scabbard, not her sword; only a speck of light dusting along the hollowed, hallowed shadows and clutches of darker wood. It danced and bobbed and weaved, and he nearly snorted, not intending to be outsmarted or ensnared by the deceitful glimmers. “Look there,” he pointed towards its shifting beams, altering his path so they didn’t come across the disingenuous edges. He’d heard too many stories and legends surrounding fool’s fire; had no regard for being the inept lined in each myth. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace

Kiada