In my stomach is butterflies

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Belial popped up from the sled and hooted again in Elizabeth’s direction, perhaps because he knew he was being an unruly and annoying git, but with one look from Deimos he went back down amidst the wide open space. Shaking his head, he gave Zuriel a glance in which both man and unicorn seemed inclined to agree on irritating perytons, before they continued down the road. He wasn’t surprised to hear of the therapist’s lack of experience, it was far more common in Caido than anywhere else he’d lived. Where he’d been expected to live and breathe fortitudes and might, others hadn’t been exposed to such notions, and he had to wonder which was better amidst the alternatives. Maybe it didn’t matter – his existence paralleled hundreds more who willingly protected and shielded, ensuring the majority didn’t have to. “Nothing wrong with that,” he gave in a half-hearted shrug; his mother had been more the scholarly type as well. Sagacity, knowledge, and information were their own brands of advantages. “And staffs can be quite effective,” giving another crooked smile, mind processing hordes of times he’d beaten fellow warriors with the armament. His brows arched and rose not to an insignificant degree at her inquiry, smothering a laugh threatening underneath – when one had been built as a weapon, there might not have been a preference at all. “The sword,” first and foremost; hence his monicker and known title. “But my magic is  dependent on the situation.” There were some as old and familiar as the marrow in his bones; like life drain, and others passed down from lineages, like the flames and the rivulets of water stoked in his veins, that gave wondrous reminders of those long gone. “My favorites would probably be fire and life drain though. Yours?” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace