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 Another shrug to his shoulders, taut and streamlined in the same instance, muscle upon muscle, brawn upon brawn, forged to protect them all. “Got the armor back anyway.” Deodat’s, hadn’t it been? Snagged and taken, stolen on a mercurial whim. Not on his end though – blistering and barbaric, cutting and slashing his way through the snow, a worn contentment balancing through the void. He brought the bear claw to his mouth, teeth sinking in, and the memories within blurred and blended into too many things at once. His brows furrowed in confusion, looking down at the pastry, at the box, at a hundred myriad things flashing through his mind. The dream was murky in that way, rendering moments and lives together, making him swallow down segments of the unknown and the clarity simultaneously. Too much. “Did I lose her too?” A whisper, meant to be hushed, uncertain, as he shook his head. Tried to ignore. The girl in the rain? Or the one who wielded a shield? Azrael; the newest child. He could focus on that. “Good. We can use their abilities in the future.” A tease as he bit into the pastry again, only putting it down to stare out the window, towards where the guardians were falling apart; a talent he lacked there, but not here. Bizarre, the way things flickered and faded, in and out. "Has Kiada decided what she wants to do?" |
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary
