i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty
Sometimes they were stranded things, and no matter the strength, no matter the persistence, they still ended up out amidst the stark, cold air, the brutal, barbaric land. Maybe that’s what had twisted and turned them so many lifetimes and years ago, the chilling voids wrapped around their hearts, their lungs, their souls, for when the rest of the world no longer needed them. There they scraped and clawed, broke over the surface a hundred times, staying, enduring, fortifying over and over again; finding one another in those haggard shells and chipped away thresholds. They knew what scorn felt like, how contempt contorted from within, how day after day, night after night, wrath could eat away and they’d forget who they were.
But not now – not when there were so many other opportunities, so many lives coiled and curled into one unending figment. Where the Reaper began and the Sword ended might remain to be seen, but both offered the Harpy a place in the shelter he’d composed for himself, for however long she needed. Kiada would be free to come back and forth, to prosper her deliverance, her strength, out into the press of the world, and then if she needed to return, his presence was there – steady, certain, sure.
So for those moments he allowed her in, until she’d had enough – and then released, into the wild, into the salt of the earth.
Except as arms slipped away, they were still in the front parlor of the barracks, neither ready to face whatever moments would, could, come strangling outside the doors. She’d be able to see the long table they sat and now stood beside, for planning, for plotting, for scheming, the maps adorning the wall – one of Halo he’d managed to acquire, one of the Hollowed Grounds he’d contorted himself. His desk was situated before the stairs leading to his apartment, nothing adorning the surface save for pens, paper, notes taken from earlier – any personal items remained in his own quarters. Then there was the hearth, the rugs, and the hall – to which he meandered now, waiting for her to follow. “Armory?”
Zuriel opted for her place beside the fire again with a short snort, and then the Sword took his memorized routes, a leisurely stroll by the candlelight fixated in the darkening corridors; not something either of them needed. The first door he came to opened beneath his turning of the knob, into a wider, more massive section, and once he lit the torch within, could be noted with shelving, with hooks, with adornments of weaponry in every size, shape, and serrated or blunted, edge imaginable. He leaned against the frame, permitting her to inspect, chisel her way along the foundations, a little proud of their accomplishments. “You can have whatever you need.” In case she’d forgotten, in case she required something, uncertain what lanced already in her new form.
He’d only just realized she’d never asked about him being here in Halo, serving as their General now. Perhaps it’d been expected, something inevitable in their sojourns, ever since they’d spied it from the annals of a tome in an underground library, and she’d thought nothing of it. Maybe she didn’t want the story, or it was to be saved for another time. And after all of this, there was a possibility it held no significance - they were in the mountains, in vestiges of old and new.
But not now – not when there were so many other opportunities, so many lives coiled and curled into one unending figment. Where the Reaper began and the Sword ended might remain to be seen, but both offered the Harpy a place in the shelter he’d composed for himself, for however long she needed. Kiada would be free to come back and forth, to prosper her deliverance, her strength, out into the press of the world, and then if she needed to return, his presence was there – steady, certain, sure.
So for those moments he allowed her in, until she’d had enough – and then released, into the wild, into the salt of the earth.
Except as arms slipped away, they were still in the front parlor of the barracks, neither ready to face whatever moments would, could, come strangling outside the doors. She’d be able to see the long table they sat and now stood beside, for planning, for plotting, for scheming, the maps adorning the wall – one of Halo he’d managed to acquire, one of the Hollowed Grounds he’d contorted himself. His desk was situated before the stairs leading to his apartment, nothing adorning the surface save for pens, paper, notes taken from earlier – any personal items remained in his own quarters. Then there was the hearth, the rugs, and the hall – to which he meandered now, waiting for her to follow. “Armory?”
Zuriel opted for her place beside the fire again with a short snort, and then the Sword took his memorized routes, a leisurely stroll by the candlelight fixated in the darkening corridors; not something either of them needed. The first door he came to opened beneath his turning of the knob, into a wider, more massive section, and once he lit the torch within, could be noted with shelving, with hooks, with adornments of weaponry in every size, shape, and serrated or blunted, edge imaginable. He leaned against the frame, permitting her to inspect, chisel her way along the foundations, a little proud of their accomplishments. “You can have whatever you need.” In case she’d forgotten, in case she required something, uncertain what lanced already in her new form.
He’d only just realized she’d never asked about him being here in Halo, serving as their General now. Perhaps it’d been expected, something inevitable in their sojourns, ever since they’d spied it from the annals of a tome in an underground library, and she’d thought nothing of it. Maybe she didn’t want the story, or it was to be saved for another time. And after all of this, there was a possibility it held no significance - they were in the mountains, in vestiges of old and new.
or your stubbornness?
DEIMOS
