[se] between two lungs

Deimos

we are all b r o k e n
that's how the l i g h t gets in

At the very core of Deimos’ being, he’d always been determined, resolved, and committed; whether or not the purpose beneath the intentions was fair, just, or right had its own connotations, iniquitous or moral, depending on which side, which line, one yearned to cross. Even when blackened, savage days had been bled dry and his sinister aspirations still pulsed, pervaded, every ounce of his movement and motion, those mutinous ambitions had been for the sake of his people, his comrades, his kin, his flesh; it hadn’t ended when he’d died. It’d come back again, full circle, rapacious and beguiling, marking itself deep in his chest, in his lungs, in the sizzling, seething void around his broken crown, his tangible fault lines. Everything he did had a purpose, had a reason, had a notion stored behind it, a push, a shove, action, action, action, I mean what I say and I say what I mean, and some worlds had respected that, and others had challenged, clawed their way through his potential, prowess, and power, and then he’d shown them too, watching last breaths as they lost, as they decayed in their dismay. There’d never been a single second where he didn’t think about rampaging his way through the woods, the forest, the massive, gaping unknown, the thorns, the nettles, the daggered blades of the void, to get them. He’d never doubted. He’d never quivered or wavered. Strong and stalwart at the best of times, steadfast and constant even in the darkest hours, when his hatred, wrath, and contempt were the only things keeping him stitched together, fraying apart at the seams. Perhaps it was bravery, daring, nerve, and intrepidity, or everything all at once, brewing and conducting its oeuvre in his vessel, so when the kingdoms sneered and roared, he howled back, undaunted, unafraid of the consequences carved ahead.

But these were not the moments produced and exploited by vicious enemies or barbaric opponents; more devious and ensnaring, perhaps; Amalia had come away without visible scars or adornments. However, Deimos knew and understood the web of trauma, the way it lingered and divided in the most random of times, or within slumber, when one closed their eyes and relived it over and over again (the screams, the wails of the dying, his sword not enough, not enough, rain closing in on him, drowning while he stood amidst the decaying flesh and the swansong of so many broken, battered lives). Even as she said no, he wondered, had half a notion to chase the wounds down, try and stitch them back together himself – but he was no mender, no assuaging, soothing constituent, just as beaten and cracked as the rest of the world. You can tell me he wanted to say, as if he could somehow entangle other things amidst the talons, cloaks, and daggers; but he also didn’t want to force her to replay it, return to demonic figures and capturing hands. His eyes said it without the words though, blue and imploring, giving her the opportunity – he’d share the time he was abducted too, if she wanted to trade pleas and bargains. He’d never forged his way through a beneficial expanse in his experience though, banged and rattled his cage, tried so desperately to avenge his wounded pride, made to bow his head.

The laughter returned, warm and sunny, forcing him to break away from the latter nuances, to become immersed in the murmurs of affection, retelling the story of the starlit Jyoti. Bond or die; never allowed to be completely alone, dependent on another to ensure survival – his eyes briefly lingered on the work of celestial bodies and maneuvering whale-tails as they flourished along the room, content to witness Amalia’s conquest and triumph, the silver lining in this entire affair. At her last insinuation though, his lips formed a more Cheshire grin,  the mischief returning briefly, the devil-may-care entanglements bordering on his arched brow. “You do not?” He acted as if he did, and truthfully, he could form a thousand different reasons why the whale would seek her out: beneficence, might, a growing, prospering boldness, eager to set herself apart from shells and shackles. Maybe the greater question would be why anyone would think she was incapable of bonding with such a creature. The Reaper thought about snorting away the notion, but conjured something else altogether, his eyes roaming, watching, consistently following the paths the whale made – little stars, little heavens, exactly as it should be. “Do they communicate with you too?” In his infinite curiosity, he’d often pondered and wondered about the bonds between animal and man; he’d never had one, not in any life, but he’d seen them all – dragons, hellhounds, kitsunes, and a myriad of other creatures, intricately woven into another character’s heart, body, and soul. Maybe he’d been too far gone for any of them to give him a second look.

He hadn’t pressed her, not knowing, not comprehending, how far or how much was overbearing, overwhelming; but she lingered back, stepped into his presence despite the darkness, despite the abyss. She was welcome – her fingers clung and intertwined into his, and he took anything, everything, she offered, Jyoti’s illuminating figure a somewhat, distant haze, and he suddenly forgot what they were there for at all – tilting his head at laughter in harmonic bells, echoing and reverberating along the books and shelves. I missed you coiled itself near his heart, and he chuckled in response – almost sardonic and satirical, because what was there to miss (he was a tower, but not much else; unworthy, undeserving)? He accepted it nonetheless, tucked it neatly in the pattern of his memories, to recall, to recite, that he was luminary in someone’s life, even if he couldn’t believe it, couldn’t give wholly to himself. He leaned down, piercing stare catching hers, daring to fall deep into their sanction, before pressing his lips to her forehead, along her gilded hairline, soft sigh billowing from his mouth, whispering and entangling too many unsaid things; too early to mention, too late to turn away. “I fear I was very grim in your absence.” Jigano had met the brunt of it – those regrets could come later, when he wasn’t beguiled and allured by the creature in his hands. “What else did you discover?”

keep the ones who
h e a r d y o u
when you never said a word