DEIMOS
Deimos had lived with so much loss that it bore into his bones just like the scars upon his flesh. Carved its aches and pains into him, let the anguish burn bitterly into his ichor and blood, so that it had sometimes flared far more brightly than any fire he’d ever hoped to achieve. Those notions came with wars, with death, with demise, with the way one tried so hard to protect everyone and everything and could never possibly do it all. Not everyone could come back on their shields. That he’d been at the center of multiple crusades and battles didn’t help, called upon again and again and committed to the fault lines, the fissures, the depths of desecration and vehemence just for the chance those he cherished would survive. His spirit certainly wasn’t unbreakable; it’d been consumed and fractured, and he’d wished for the world to swallow him whole more than once – but nowadays it wasn’t nearly as fragile. Not as brittle. Strong, enduring, formidable. Built over and over until those walls were tough and steeled, forged behind more than just nonchalance and adversity. And still, mired and rooted in trepidation; waiting for that next dam to break.
He put the finishing touches on his own crown, studying and examining it for any faults or defects, before tucking a stray leave or petal back into the clutches of stems and brethren. While Idalia giggled, he put his aside, shaking his head and snagging at more to repeat the process for Evie and Amhran’s, immediately going for more of the green hues.
When he looked at Icarus’s, with its interlocking measures and haphazard decrees, he granted a small smile. “Yes. You should go see,” jutting his jawline towards one of the greenhouse pools, in case Icarus wanted a reflection of his work. At the question though, he snorted, and even Idalia rendered another giggle and squeal. “Plenty,” but giving no inclination as to what those flaws might be, landing the notions with a smirk.
He put the finishing touches on his own crown, studying and examining it for any faults or defects, before tucking a stray leave or petal back into the clutches of stems and brethren. While Idalia giggled, he put his aside, shaking his head and snagging at more to repeat the process for Evie and Amhran’s, immediately going for more of the green hues.
When he looked at Icarus’s, with its interlocking measures and haphazard decrees, he granted a small smile. “Yes. You should go see,” jutting his jawline towards one of the greenhouse pools, in case Icarus wanted a reflection of his work. At the question though, he snorted, and even Idalia rendered another giggle and squeal. “Plenty,” but giving no inclination as to what those flaws might be, landing the notions with a smirk.
think about this
you have the ability to survive anything
you have the ability to survive anything
