DEIMOS
How many scars could one person create? Leave behind? Scrape against the enamel of bones? Make notes and sounds of love and light, then forgo it entirely, as if they never existed? He could spend lifetimes contemplating those notions and never find the answer; only the steadfast beat of his own heart as it had mended itself. A cathartic chasm, beginnings and resolutions.
Years and years before, in the last time they’d spoken, he’d been in exile. An invaded Halo, brandished by Ascended. Broken again, but stitched together by bits of promise and plotting, as if machinations had been the only thing keeping him quietly knotted and gnarled, instead of frayed and stranded. But then, thereafter, there’d been death and deluge, wars and regrowth, a kingdom held by blades and pine, people who’d found a way to heal out of the derision. Nothing discarded and thrown away couldn’t be tethered and caught again - and it’d taken him a long, long while to discover this – he’d crawled his way out of disease and agony, misery and tragedy, with the determination of his own making. Then there was Evie. And Amhran. And Erebos. A Citadel, stretched tall, towering. A blackened, nefarious soul settled back into the framework of belonging, strong, mighty, stalwart. Altered hues. Changed beliefs. Until there were so many things to believe in that he worked perilously, day and night, to ensure they remained come sunrise.
Maybe he’d thought she’d found methods too. Disappeared, slipped into the shadows of kingdoms, carried on Vi’s plans, her own renewal, away from the particles of primordial etchings and fallen barriers. Had taken routes and courses and directions from a faded Hollowed hell and haven and christened, anointed, them in lifelong dreams. Hadn’t needed anyone or anything, save for her own motives, her god’s stratagems.
Perhaps all of that had happened, and then – luck or fortune had simply run out. He didn’t want to think of the alternatives, of those times he’d caught her willing to let sacrifice take its course again and again and again. Nor did he know what to do, what to say, in this strange refuge of ghosts. Likely why he always preferred silence, and why he couldn't let that habit linger here. “Hey,” he started instead, biting down multitudes behind his teeth and swallowing them whole. “I never expected to see you here,” came out thereafter; eternally forthright and candid. “None of us knew -,” and then he cut that line off too, shaking his head, finding difficulty in where to start when everything had long since ended.
Years and years before, in the last time they’d spoken, he’d been in exile. An invaded Halo, brandished by Ascended. Broken again, but stitched together by bits of promise and plotting, as if machinations had been the only thing keeping him quietly knotted and gnarled, instead of frayed and stranded. But then, thereafter, there’d been death and deluge, wars and regrowth, a kingdom held by blades and pine, people who’d found a way to heal out of the derision. Nothing discarded and thrown away couldn’t be tethered and caught again - and it’d taken him a long, long while to discover this – he’d crawled his way out of disease and agony, misery and tragedy, with the determination of his own making. Then there was Evie. And Amhran. And Erebos. A Citadel, stretched tall, towering. A blackened, nefarious soul settled back into the framework of belonging, strong, mighty, stalwart. Altered hues. Changed beliefs. Until there were so many things to believe in that he worked perilously, day and night, to ensure they remained come sunrise.
Maybe he’d thought she’d found methods too. Disappeared, slipped into the shadows of kingdoms, carried on Vi’s plans, her own renewal, away from the particles of primordial etchings and fallen barriers. Had taken routes and courses and directions from a faded Hollowed hell and haven and christened, anointed, them in lifelong dreams. Hadn’t needed anyone or anything, save for her own motives, her god’s stratagems.
Perhaps all of that had happened, and then – luck or fortune had simply run out. He didn’t want to think of the alternatives, of those times he’d caught her willing to let sacrifice take its course again and again and again. Nor did he know what to do, what to say, in this strange refuge of ghosts. Likely why he always preferred silence, and why he couldn't let that habit linger here. “Hey,” he started instead, biting down multitudes behind his teeth and swallowing them whole. “I never expected to see you here,” came out thereafter; eternally forthright and candid. “None of us knew -,” and then he cut that line off too, shaking his head, finding difficulty in where to start when everything had long since ended.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
