In my stomach is butterflies

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Ah, that kind of counseling. Deimos and therapy rarely went hand-in-hand, and even then, it was often forced and coerced. He’d become far better in recent years at recovering and nullifying different bouts of trauma, and when they tended to resurface he didn’t sink as far. Knowing he wouldn’t be amongst those willingly lining up to receive such parallels and discussions, he could at least spread the information around Halo. “You will likely be busy then,” he joked instead; because Caido had a ready supply of marred, wounded, and anguished individuals. Whether or not they’d wind their way to such sessions was up to the person – he could presume there’d be some yearning for guidance rather than committed to avoidance. “You may want to put something up on the notice boards.” Taking a sip of the tea, he nearly snorted at her inquiry. Swallowing down the beverage, giving him ample time to render the best way to answer (protector, guardian, general and soldier and shield), he eventually pulled the cup away to respond. “My wife and I are the Wardens of Halo.” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace