[seasonal event] to find a soul somewhere

Deimos Amalia had more courage than she seemed to ever realize: beneficence without a second thought, proffered to the entirety of humanity no matter the gnashing teeth or the blistering tongues. He’d never been quite the same, once his bridges were burned, concaved, or fettered apart, so was he, draped and cloaked and garbed in the worn hollows and shallows of his nefarious ambitions, drawn back into the shadows because then no one would touch him, no one would bother him, no one would carve him apart, bit by bit, ever again. Hardened and barbaric, twisted and damned, consecrated straight into hell and chosen to live once more in its plagued sanction, in the dusky reaches of a faithless torrent – stuck in the downpour of his own making. But he gave himself to her freely, proffered the armaments, the munitions, the sunken, seditious array of his irreverence, of his vile, vehement frame – maybe she’d had enough. Maybe she’d seen it, he, was worthless and exhausted, too many walls, too many structures, too many fortifications she no longer wanted to climb. Those notions cut deeper than the wounds and scars dug into his back, along his chest, and he forced them away on her laughter, raising his head, befuddled, rattled, so confused, bewildered, uncertain of which waters they tread upon or within. He was not the same. He wasn’t a slinking, mercurial tide, lingering before pulling away, crushing hope in his wake. He wasn’t volatile or capricious, not in her hands, not in the promises and vows he always intended to keep. He stared as the dulcet motions of her fingers rested lightly, on his cheek, leaning into the touch as if he thought it all fleeting, all going away, in an instant, meant to stab him in the heart like lifetimes before. The warrior swallowed down so many things – a thought pressing into his mind, for who, for which, he was not certain. When will you realize you are not alone? The Reaper was boundless adherence in a world scrambling and squandering to render itself whole. The demon was unrelenting ferocity and force in a land that didn’t know where to turn or how to exist in pieces and shackles. The monster was mayhem and discord and irreverence on his best days, but even corded on those occasions, he was still certain, sure, and devoted. Maybe one day she’d see it. Maybe one day it would rampage past her eyes and her mind, chisel and funnel and sculpt its way down into her veins, and she would witness, she would watch, as he committed to every vow he’d ever concocted. He breathed, somewhere in the midst, releasing the tension, the rigid, apprehensive coils managed to nestle in his ribs. She was still wrapped around him, still there, not escaping, asking for him to teach her how to swim. His penetrating eyes took her in, the sun, wondering why he hadn’t been blinded yet. “Of course.” So they would give and give and give and give again, perhaps until they truly understood one another. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime