Deimos the Reaper You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this long and lonely road to hell the throne must be such a sad and lonely place “Battle took longer than expected.” And had hurt more, judging by the stiffness, the residual pain in his muscles and bones, the way Gull had snagged and taut and stabbed, the way the Reaper had done so in return. He shifted, maneuvered his shoulders, attempted to stretch them out of the unyielding contortions. Tired? Yes. He’d been tired for a long time – burning at both ends with no finality in sight. Going, going, going, because few of the others would bother, would dare. His eyes lifted back to her, drawn and exhausted. He would’ve been content to remain there on the couch for an eternity, and she could stay if she wanted, but he’d be lulled back into slumber and rest and the world wouldn’t be pulling at his seams, at his frayed ends. I am sorry almost fell from his mouth again, but he couldn’t fathom why. “Stuff,” he mentioned, and the word felt bizarre in his mouth, wrinkling his nose in suspicion, eyes narrowing at her joke, before they rolled dramatically. However, he snagged at the box on the counter all the same, enticed to rise by her pull, and not swaying, not bending, a time when he still remained solid and defiant. “Where did you find these?” |
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary
