Damien
the horrors persist
but the wonders prevail
but the wonders prevail
Damien paused at the bottom of the stairway, boots crunching through the kind of snow that wasn’t quite Halo’s. Softer here, muted by the canopy and lantern-light. Aria bounded ahead, pale fur catching the glow as she leapt two steps at a time, tail flicking with curiosity. He followed at his own pace, a small bundle wrapped in cloth tucked carefully under his arm.
Inside, the warmth hit him first. Too many scents, too much brightness. A feast that could have kept a Halo household through the better part of Deepfrost spread across the table, laughter and chatter filling the rafters. Damien shook snow from his shoulders and paused near the threshold until the prickle of instinct eased enough to step forward.
He set the bundle down with a practiced care, peeling back the cloth to reveal a wooden box no bigger than two hands. The grain was smooth under his thumb where he’d sanded it clean, the lid snug to the base, lines sharp from a steady knife. Around the edges, simple carvings ran in bands: evergreen boughs, a curling line of snowflakes, a small flame in one corner (some details are cleaner than others, as he is not the best at it). Not art for art’s sake, but enough to catch and hold the eye.
“House looks good,” he said, his voice carrying toward Maea as she turned from another guest. “Figured you could use somewhere to keep things. Whatever you don’t want lost.” He didn’t explain the carvings, or why the flame sat alone against the plain of wood. Just left the box there on the table, plainspoken as always.
Aria, less restrained, was already weaving her way through the crowd, nose twitching at stew and cider before darting toward a familiar figure. She nosed at Theea’s boot, then reared up against her leg with a soft chuff, demanding attention. Damien’s mouth twitched at the sight, the faintest ghost of a smile.
Inside, the warmth hit him first. Too many scents, too much brightness. A feast that could have kept a Halo household through the better part of Deepfrost spread across the table, laughter and chatter filling the rafters. Damien shook snow from his shoulders and paused near the threshold until the prickle of instinct eased enough to step forward.
He set the bundle down with a practiced care, peeling back the cloth to reveal a wooden box no bigger than two hands. The grain was smooth under his thumb where he’d sanded it clean, the lid snug to the base, lines sharp from a steady knife. Around the edges, simple carvings ran in bands: evergreen boughs, a curling line of snowflakes, a small flame in one corner (some details are cleaner than others, as he is not the best at it). Not art for art’s sake, but enough to catch and hold the eye.
“House looks good,” he said, his voice carrying toward Maea as she turned from another guest. “Figured you could use somewhere to keep things. Whatever you don’t want lost.” He didn’t explain the carvings, or why the flame sat alone against the plain of wood. Just left the box there on the table, plainspoken as always.
Aria, less restrained, was already weaving her way through the crowd, nose twitching at stew and cider before darting toward a familiar figure. She nosed at Theea’s boot, then reared up against her leg with a soft chuff, demanding attention. Damien’s mouth twitched at the sight, the faintest ghost of a smile.
