remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
It was no surprise that some days he’d prefer his emotions to decay, wither, and die inside him. Never to be seen, never to be heard, never to be commanded or wielded again. Hidden, covert, doomed, gone, smothered so readily in the spark of a flame, so he wouldn’t be marred or wounded by them any longer. Caught in a stasis of numbed superiority, as if the nonchalance could bleed through his insides, and the ice, the glaciers, would balance out all the other inward lacerations consuming, consuming, consuming his soul. But that was not the way the world worked, and not how he was to grow any longer. Sick of erosion, being taken for granted, being cut apart at the end of everyone else’s gambles, the temptation to rise into her anger was great. To permit all the seams of rage flicker and filter into the evening whirlwinds, no tethers, no lines, no chains binding the onslaught. True terror and distinction, things they’d once had, in rumor and in truth, instead of being the entities left behind. To become better, stronger, mightier, for no one else but himself.
Her words were harsh and unrelenting in the midst of the storm they built, and he sunk into them. Permitted his magic to become a reflection of the anger, not the beauty, not the light; as piercing voids collaborated into the lightning-lit cyclones, the storm clouds. He leaned into the vexation, into the wrath, into the contempt so easily, so readily, as he’d done in lifetimes before. Unyielding, unbending, unbroken manifestations of an abhorrent ease, where enemies would’ve shaken to see them there, threatening to topple the world down around them. Shards of ice gathered and harpooned within, and the water continued to take and orchestrate and bludgeon the air – crackling in its static crescendos. “They were not worth it,” and he didn’t encompass the they, didn’t need to – their names could’ve been stretched out across the expanse for the earth to see, lit up in hostility and vexation, and the meaning would still be the same. “And you are right, it was not your fault.”
And somewhere inside his hollowed out chest he wondered if it was the same for him. If he’d given everything he could, and others simply moved on, indifferent to the way they pierced and shattered. If he mattered at all. If he’d been destroyed –
His jaw clenched, and she could’ve bared her teeth at him for a lifetime and he could stand in her fury, in her ferocity, but he wasn’t going to sink into his anguish any longer. The tempest brewed and cajoled in the ease of his mastered wake, and so did the insinuations, so did the parallels, so did the thunder and Reaper tendencies. A callback to vengeance and vehemence. “Then maybe you should create a consequence.”
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
