DEIMOS
The silence said enough; before tears and shattered hearts, before remnants and figments of another life extinguished. And as much as he would have tried to fix this – to fix anything – the Sword had learned over seasons, cycles, and multiple lives, that there were only so many notions to be done. With nothing to gnash their teeth against, puncture, malign, or wound, the only desecrations that seemed to thrive were the ethers of anguish. So he committed to the protection and solace as she burned and deflated, as she burst and stoked, as she fell to pieces of ash and bone. Held and promised in the vast, residual weight of his existence – as he’d done so many times before.
If possible, Deimos placed her further into his hold, indifferent to the front of his shirt marred by tears, to the aching sobs, to the echoing reverberations of sorrow lingering upon the walls. He could’ve uttered a thousand platitudes but they would’ve been useless, incapable, inept. Maybe his quiet would do better – in all the wakes and stirring of infernos and conflagrations, carefully ensuring a rise instead of a fall, inwardly lifting and coaxing her drowning form above the fringes of water and currents.
If possible, Deimos placed her further into his hold, indifferent to the front of his shirt marred by tears, to the aching sobs, to the echoing reverberations of sorrow lingering upon the walls. He could’ve uttered a thousand platitudes but they would’ve been useless, incapable, inept. Maybe his quiet would do better – in all the wakes and stirring of infernos and conflagrations, carefully ensuring a rise instead of a fall, inwardly lifting and coaxing her drowning form above the fringes of water and currents.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
