Damien
and every demon wants his pound of flesh
but i like to keep some things to myself
but i like to keep some things to myself
Damien’s jaw worked, slow and deliberate, like he was chewing on words that didn’t want to come loose. The moonlight licked across the planes of his face, catching the hollows under his eyes, the way his mouth set hard against itself.
“I don’t know if I need it,” he admitted, voice low, roughened. “Some days I think I do. Some days I think holding on to it just keeps me stuck.” His gaze flicked toward the antler again, sharp and longing both, before pulling back like he couldn’t quite stand to look at it too long. “It mattered once. Still does, I guess. But it doesn’t bring him back. Doesn’t keep the cold off my back. Feels like I’ve been carrying a stone that isn’t mine anymore.”
He drew in a breath, let it out slow. The words that followed didn’t come easy, and it showed in the tightness of his hands where they curled into loose fists at his sides. “Maybe leaving it here means I can stop looking over my shoulder. Stop waiting for someone who isn’t coming back.” He gave a short, humorless huff. “That’s the part I keep tripping on. If I don't have it, then it’s just me. No proof, no story. Just… me.”
Her second question sat heavier, though, and he didn’t dodge it. His eyes lifted to hers, steady but shadowed. “And.. next?” A pause stretched, weighty. “I'll just keep going. Same as I always have. Hunting, logging, whatever work I can lay my hands on. That’s what I know.” His mouth pulled taut, as if he might leave it at that—but he didn’t. “But if I’m honest…” His voice thinned, quieter. “I don’t want it to just be more of the same. Don’t know what else there is for me, but—” He broke off, shoulders shifting in a shrug that tried for nonchalance, didn’t quite land. “Guess I’ll find out.”
His brows lifted a fraction as he peered at her then, curiosity lingering at the edges. "And you? What will you do next? Or are there still things holding you back?"
“I don’t know if I need it,” he admitted, voice low, roughened. “Some days I think I do. Some days I think holding on to it just keeps me stuck.” His gaze flicked toward the antler again, sharp and longing both, before pulling back like he couldn’t quite stand to look at it too long. “It mattered once. Still does, I guess. But it doesn’t bring him back. Doesn’t keep the cold off my back. Feels like I’ve been carrying a stone that isn’t mine anymore.”
He drew in a breath, let it out slow. The words that followed didn’t come easy, and it showed in the tightness of his hands where they curled into loose fists at his sides. “Maybe leaving it here means I can stop looking over my shoulder. Stop waiting for someone who isn’t coming back.” He gave a short, humorless huff. “That’s the part I keep tripping on. If I don't have it, then it’s just me. No proof, no story. Just… me.”
Her second question sat heavier, though, and he didn’t dodge it. His eyes lifted to hers, steady but shadowed. “And.. next?” A pause stretched, weighty. “I'll just keep going. Same as I always have. Hunting, logging, whatever work I can lay my hands on. That’s what I know.” His mouth pulled taut, as if he might leave it at that—but he didn’t. “But if I’m honest…” His voice thinned, quieter. “I don’t want it to just be more of the same. Don’t know what else there is for me, but—” He broke off, shoulders shifting in a shrug that tried for nonchalance, didn’t quite land. “Guess I’ll find out.”
His brows lifted a fraction as he peered at her then, curiosity lingering at the edges. "And you? What will you do next? Or are there still things holding you back?"
