DEIMOS
“I can make it work,” he proceeded with a sort of juvenile, defiant air that settled back into his brows with a determined, furrowed line; eternally beckoning any sense of challenge. The suds worked their way through the smooth, silken threads of her hair, and before long he’d opted to coordinate them into buns on either side of her head, tilting this way and that to give it a practiced, studied air. Thereafter though, he opted to simply soak and rinse the strands first, the gentle coaxing of water sliding through his hands, warm and quiet, cleaning and dissipating any remains of that day’s infirmary visits or collisions with Erebos’ flailing favors.
It was easier to concentrate on her; tending, mending, soothing, than wiling away the particulars of the Forsaken’s latest visit. A cataclysm of change or cycles or something he couldn’t quite explain; because forgiveness never settled well in his ribcage and he was always content to damn those who’d wounded and wronged. He’d left her uncertain too, so he sighed, proceeded in the way Noah had initially. “Came to tell me Cordelia had been killed by a white dragon. That was where he had been for so many seasons. Hunting it down.” His words came on a more muted rumble; never quite sure where to place his grief. She’d been a friend, and she’d been a coward, and somewhere in between remained everything else.
Not intending to leave it there, he sighed, letting the motions pilfer away into the bath air; cool and refract off into the distance, tenderly plucking at her crimson threads until they seemed free of the shampoo. “He apologized for taking his anger out on me. And I am aware that we were far better friends and allies, and that I would try, but I am not good at overlooking everything he did.”
It was easier to concentrate on her; tending, mending, soothing, than wiling away the particulars of the Forsaken’s latest visit. A cataclysm of change or cycles or something he couldn’t quite explain; because forgiveness never settled well in his ribcage and he was always content to damn those who’d wounded and wronged. He’d left her uncertain too, so he sighed, proceeded in the way Noah had initially. “Came to tell me Cordelia had been killed by a white dragon. That was where he had been for so many seasons. Hunting it down.” His words came on a more muted rumble; never quite sure where to place his grief. She’d been a friend, and she’d been a coward, and somewhere in between remained everything else.
Not intending to leave it there, he sighed, letting the motions pilfer away into the bath air; cool and refract off into the distance, tenderly plucking at her crimson threads until they seemed free of the shampoo. “He apologized for taking his anger out on me. And I am aware that we were far better friends and allies, and that I would try, but I am not good at overlooking everything he did.”
who we were before bones, before dirt, before even light
we have always been deep, restless souls
we have always been deep, restless souls
