our terrible story of survival

Deimos the Reaper master of nothing place, of recoil and grace Grieving had become a natural part of their lives, loss after loss feeding and fueling the impact. Deimos had long since rooted himself into brooding, melancholic contortions when the hour struck just right, blending into the shadows, detached, left alone with his thoughts. Others mourned far differently, but with absolute certainty – if she needed him, he’d be there. As far as running amidst the chaos, he shrugged, the half-smile rising along his features again. “We attempted a rebellion.” She likely would’ve enjoyed the tale, something to share on another interval, when there weren’t hundreds of thousands of things to say or conduct. She likely would’ve expected it, especially with he and Kiada involved, far too Helovian to allow the world to stay quiet for long – contortions of the violent, bleeding fire and ice, wintery demolition and embers of insurrection. Whether or not Hotaru would be intrigued or interested in reigning again would likely come up at some point – there were constant shifts along these intervals and nuances, somewhat irritating at the beginning, no structure, only bedlam and chaos. Even if he savored the nuances of pandemonium and mayhem, the latest plunge had been quite enough for one damned year. “You will. You always have.” Hotaru had that capability, she could do more than just erode or assimilate, branching out, reaching for allies, for likely kin, for comrades, charming and capable. He was the one who took his time in measures of the Machiavellian – and somehow, someway, these creatures of Caido had accepted and tolerated his presence. He arched a brow at the sizzle to her fingers, the promise of power crackling in the synapses; catalysts for future havoc? He did laugh at the notion of a buff little troll. The image was too much. Then came the latter threat, and he rolled his eyes affectionately, the devilish contortions searing and snapping over the threshold. The Reaper, the Sword, had half a notion of sending her back out into the snow, if all she was going to conduct with teasing and taunting. He would withhold from saying anything at all; and she knew that, understood means and motions of his livelihood very well. “It is precisely why I did not tell you.” They’d probably still be talking about it. Hotaru had likely never met Huyana – not before she drifted off on plumes of air and cascading showers, gone and lost to him in consecutive moments, almost always like a ghost well before her passing, promises of benediction he could never fully grasp. So he sighed, pretending to be quite put upon, and began to unravel the etchings of their tale over the scones.

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