[seasonal event] fell to the top

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

Pettiness should’ve been above the once King, but it wasn’t, far from it; sometimes actively doing things fortified out of pure spite. Scars for scars. Brutality for brutality. Sin for sin. He’d stolen another because they’d taken one of his. He’d assaulted because others had threatened. He’d mauled and murdered when warnings were ignored. Payback, vengeance, and justice were blades and rapiers he’d often wield, and though this wasn’t entirely the case as they roamed back through the village, basket in his grasp, the sheen of snow carved into the niche of woodwork, the sensation of pride and revenge roamed back over him. It was likely unfounded and a tad ridiculous, but he wanted them to see a mere side, a glimpse, into what he could do, into what he could craft, into what he could muster given half a chance; more than a weapon, more than a shield, more than a beast. His gaze was solely on the intertwining path, on the squares, on the sod earth, then lifting, higher and higher, until it reached the canopies, not glancing towards the Fae, a tower, a monolith, a restless spirit intertwined and blended into the formation of their whittled sculptures, goods, and wares. The Reaper’s steps were neither quick nor meandering, less savage but more calculated, precise, measured, devout in their irreverence, only casting his stare away from the treetops and stalls when Jigano’s innocent query meandered its way into his ears. Then he stiffened – taut and rigid again, shoulders and spine straightening, the barest hint of discomfort etching its way into his skin. Not for the subject at hand, but how close it played to his bones, to his flesh, to his heart and soul; and his eyes narrowed suspiciously, thinking about subverting and skirting around the topic altogether. It was safer that way – for he and Amalia alone, unless she preferred it out in the open and gliding along the wind; he was apprehensive for a multitude of reasons, vulnerability being the main consternation. His guard was down for her, but not for many others (Kiada and Rexanna eternally included in the fold; because they’d seen him at his absolute worst and still bothered to remain in his orbit). He shrugged, then turned back to staring at the various kiosks, a vivid pretense. “Stars.” The beast admitted with a nod, because it was an obvious representation of Amalia; embossed and embedded in luminary fixtures, singing Jyoti pulsing around her, gazing up at the heavens, causing him to utter another declaration. “Some suns.” Deimos could confess the idea wasn’t a bad notion at all, and added the basket to a list of things to proffer and extend to her when he saw the baker next. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate