In my stomach is butterflies

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Expecting something far more difficult, his gaze went to the sign, then to the place above the door. Withholding a snort, and only just so, because the moment amused him, his deft fingers grabbed hold of the fixture and placed it neatly so that it hung precisely where it needed to be. “There you are,” and then calculating further, he took a few steps back. Extending his hands apart from one another, a gilded glow began to sanction and simmer between, forming creation incantations in vivid, quick, swift machinations. From his mind to tangible threads before them, the Sword created a step stool, and then a regular ladder, adorned in solid but simple wooden frames. Leaning and placing them off to the side, he nodded again. “Should you need to fix it in the future.” Or anything else for that matter – handy tools for multitudes of situations. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace