[SE] For all of us

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Deimos had long since been a weapon himself; between magic, shifts, and the weaponry upon him (for yes, he also carried knives), but there’d only been so much they could do during LongNight. Staying put, which had been encompassed in every warning, still never had the desired effect when torture ensued or loved ones were on the line. “Of course we did,” he rumbled, a low snort volleying through, perhaps at the frustration of how many times they’d been cornered, or the way they were easily tricked and enticed. “Some opened the door because their friends were on the other side, and it was fine. They were saved.” It’d be hailed as a good or poor decision, depending on the outcome. “Others went out into the night because they heard something that promised them power. Or they wanted to rescue and liberate another.” Whispers of prestige and dominion, things that could give and grant anyone brawn and might. “And some did not – and had to live with either the consequences or be relieved they had not made a mistake.” Because those rumblings were monsters and it hadn’t been a failure…or it had indeed been kin, a citizen, someone out there, begging and pleading and never getting anything but a deranged death. He'd made plenty of errors and mishaps on those LongNights too. Of trying so desperately to save everyone that he ended up killing his best friend. And while Rexanna had long since forgiven him, that he hadn’t been to blame, it still hovered as a telltale sign of striving and trying might not matter – that it could swing and collapse and consume just the same too. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace