Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
He waited for some other ax to swing; that he’d uttered too much and the Ascended would dig, and then Deimos would reform to another brick wall, another fortified dimension of onslaughts and heartaches. Perhaps Bastien was perceptive enough to notice, to know, it would be a slippery slope, and let it be. “Oh,” he uttered, staring at the unicorn in his grasp, as if he hadn’t considered making something for himself. The artist was correct in those assumptions; it’d been a long time since the Sword had thought about anything he would’ve liked or cherished. “Okay.” A quiet acceptance, a nod, before conforming to finishing the equine.
At the further insinuations of Tembovu, the snort following through wasn’t withheld. “He could turn into an elephant.” Much like the rest of the shifting, Attuned adornments here. The day Deimos saw another of such ilk would be a poor one; the memories not hazy, despite being from a life before. Hatred, grudges, and abhorrence ran deep, embedded and chiseled through mountains and demolition.
Then there were the aspects of where to place the Penumbra and Harpy memorials – a thought that he’d never thought he’d have to endure – and he listened to the options. The Fields, sanctums and sanctuaries laden – maybe they could tuck it in a corner somewhere, hushed and unobtrusive, where respects could be paid and endeavored, without recalling the tragic losses of Fiat Lux. “When you are ready then.” They could march over and contort, create, make something that honored brave, strong women gone far too soon.
At the further insinuations of Tembovu, the snort following through wasn’t withheld. “He could turn into an elephant.” Much like the rest of the shifting, Attuned adornments here. The day Deimos saw another of such ilk would be a poor one; the memories not hazy, despite being from a life before. Hatred, grudges, and abhorrence ran deep, embedded and chiseled through mountains and demolition.
Then there were the aspects of where to place the Penumbra and Harpy memorials – a thought that he’d never thought he’d have to endure – and he listened to the options. The Fields, sanctums and sanctuaries laden – maybe they could tuck it in a corner somewhere, hushed and unobtrusive, where respects could be paid and endeavored, without recalling the tragic losses of Fiat Lux. “When you are ready then.” They could march over and contort, create, make something that honored brave, strong women gone far too soon.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
