Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Deimos was both slow to love and slow to let go, as if those who finally fully embedded themselves within his soul meant they were supposed to stay there for an eternity. But worlds didn’t work that way, and he’d learned through loss after loss, mourning after mourning, those listless, nefarious days where it was easier to become a stone wall. Rexanna was another one of those pillars crumbling, rising elsewhere, no longer a necessary bulwark and rampart against himself. “Sometimes it takes a while,” he noted with another small smile, a statement to match over the ages and lifetimes. An acceptance, when all the finality fell into place.Gently picking Erebos up from his lap as the infant began to fade, he placed him firmly against his shoulder, holding him in place as the impromptu nap came to call. Listening to Kiada, he couldn’t help but give a light chuckle; it’d been a simple inquiry, but certainly not one that she was prepared for. She’d come a long way from surviving amidst nothing multiple times, biting against armor and weaponry and hoping for nothing else. His grin was fond as she answered, conforming to the potentials in his mind. Nor should she be surprised if she arrived home one day with a pile of gifts left on their deck. “That can be arranged.”
