[seasonal event] to find a soul somewhere

Deimos He hadn’t always been a beast of plots or machinations either; it’d come with wisdom, experience, and blunders, impulsive flaws giving way to meticulous compositions and foibles. Still, sometimes it buzzed and droned against his ears, taunting, telling him to rush forward, relentless and reckless, without forethought; the fire and savage, untamed embers within his presence, in his bloodline. Otherwise, the water controlled and cajoled, quiet, an unassuming power until it was required, unleashed, a chilling figure eclipsed in death and mountains, cut from the glaciers, from the void, from the abyss. He would watch, study, and scrutinize, a contorted, distorted examination, looking for weaknesses, for cracks, for splinters and fractures he could further disintegrate, curl against claws and fathoms. But in the present, it was all glee and entertainment, Machiavellian mind set for diversion and play, still wicked, but less divisive, worn by Cheshire tempests and mercurial endeavors, rather than desecration and devastation. Jyoti crooned, a delightful swell of triumph and conquest, and instead of hating the melody (because there would’ve been days, weeks, years where he would’ve gazed upon the scene and hissed in disgust, in bitterness, in such a rancorous, acrid hostility for his loss, for another’s victory against him), he bowed against it, acknowledged the starwhale’s victory. She circled and warbled, hummed and trilled while he sighed, soaked to the skin, pretending to snatch at her as she blew starlight and dust into his gaze, a celestial apparition as she coasted behind the rock. He would have his revenge, justice, and retribution. Patience was a virtue – perhaps one of the very few he possessed. The Reaper smirked as his shadow loomed above Amalia, as she turned his way – always somewhat amazed that she would bother to gaze upon him at all – enamored, enthralled. He might never have enough of her eyes and glances; the greedy, covetous portions of his soul wanted the onyx reverie constantly, absolutely; the steady beat of his heart wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle its devotion. Who was more captivated might’ve been another competition, fervent to express his adoration, tilting his head to stare upon her, take in the baker’s image from a higher vantage. Her innocence was poorly contrived, a pretense he didn’t even bother to simmer within, arching his brow at her blameless inquiry. “Could have been better,” he muttered, shrugged, shaking his frame purposefully, especially the long, untamed locks, like a dog, sending out more of the water’s spray and foam. Deimos would’ve greatly preferred an actual swim amidst the waves, diving and thriving, coiling beneath the surface, with her unsaid, but implied. Then he lingered upon the rock, not straying from its surface, but lowered his frame, bending his knees until he crouched, a hovering pillar. “Join me?” He extended a worn, calloused hand, a ruffian’s, rogue’s smile. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime