DEIMOS
He hadn’t meant to be a burden to anyone or anything; a life instilled in fortifications and strength, in might and endurance, persevering through every damned thing sent his way. Except for this, and all the other things before it – and he should’ve been ready for some semblance of abandonment, he should’ve known, should’ve seen –
The apology rested in his mouth again, against the back of his teeth as he realized just how difficult he was making it for everyone. He curled and coiled along the bench, every inch defeated and fatigued, something in his blood telling him to remain. Maybe he would grow ice from his soles and be a glacier there, frozen in time and space, incapable of being hurt again. Maybe he would melt from the inferno coating his soul, and be rendered back into cinders and dust.
His eyes lifted from the ground at Morgan’s question, widening, brows no longer furrowed, sorrow bounding and leaping over their piercing slate, until he dropped them again. Chulane provided an explanation, and Deimos had nothing, nothing, nothing. It came aloft on his tongue and likely made no sense – a puncturing wake in his heart, an organ that should’ve been full. “The Harpy was in flames. The Penumbra was felled. The Valkyrie has disappeared. The Shield does not want me anymore.” So he shook his head; no one left to correspond to. He doubted he mattered to anyone else; despite things he’d done for the world.
For Zuriel’s part, her ears pinned back against her skull again, and his hand went to her mane, tugging at the strands, a silent imploring, and her pride was wounded too. A snort funneled through her nares, and a very stern promise rendered, before she shifted towards Auni with an air of impatience, only mildly soothed by Eunike’s presence.
The Sword glanced up once again as she moved away, as one last piece seemed to go – Chulane’s hand on his brow, everything burning. “You do not have to.”
The apology rested in his mouth again, against the back of his teeth as he realized just how difficult he was making it for everyone. He curled and coiled along the bench, every inch defeated and fatigued, something in his blood telling him to remain. Maybe he would grow ice from his soles and be a glacier there, frozen in time and space, incapable of being hurt again. Maybe he would melt from the inferno coating his soul, and be rendered back into cinders and dust.
His eyes lifted from the ground at Morgan’s question, widening, brows no longer furrowed, sorrow bounding and leaping over their piercing slate, until he dropped them again. Chulane provided an explanation, and Deimos had nothing, nothing, nothing. It came aloft on his tongue and likely made no sense – a puncturing wake in his heart, an organ that should’ve been full. “The Harpy was in flames. The Penumbra was felled. The Valkyrie has disappeared. The Shield does not want me anymore.” So he shook his head; no one left to correspond to. He doubted he mattered to anyone else; despite things he’d done for the world.
For Zuriel’s part, her ears pinned back against her skull again, and his hand went to her mane, tugging at the strands, a silent imploring, and her pride was wounded too. A snort funneled through her nares, and a very stern promise rendered, before she shifted towards Auni with an air of impatience, only mildly soothed by Eunike’s presence.
The Sword glanced up once again as she moved away, as one last piece seemed to go – Chulane’s hand on his brow, everything burning. “You do not have to.”
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
