DEIMOS
Defiance was a ready tattoo in his chest, pulsing and pounding with the beat of his molten, seditious heart: resist, resist, resist. It was a seed planted in his brain the day he was born, growing its nefarious thorns and irreverent entanglements day by day, month by month, year by year, until his experiences combined into muted stories from other worlds, until glacial walls became all the more familiar, home, until the godless manifestations crooned and crawled their way into his existence. It bloomed and blossomed here too, feral and savage, wild and untamed, a bough, a bramble, sticking its nettles through his mind, sweeping the turns and centuries away from ancient wars and destitute miseries, shaping, creating, manifesting. He’d kept his head down long enough, intonated repose and composure in the fire and flames, until finally, they seemed to relish restlessly down the length of his form, and the shambles of swordplay rang and beat against his brain.
The hollowed, midnight oils and shadows covered his figure, required no cloak on the memorized path, roaming the streets as if it were a customary procedure: wander, wander, wander, until he saw the bakery’s lights, little beacons and drawbridges, coaxing them in from the dusk and twilight. The beast made no hesitation in his steps, just as nefarious, just as seditious, as the molten creeds stored within his undying wake: lingering along the threshold until he came to the half-door hidden by clumps of lavender (stifled his chuckle; the flowers of revolution had apparently already started with him), before bending, crawling through the makeshift aperture. He was silent and certain, and ensured both opening and closing of the entry was quiet, hushed, and when he glanced into the familiar basement (only before it had been littered with debris and stone golems), he raised his piercing gaze to the baker, in the corner, mug in hand.
“Amalia,” he presided, straightening out to his full height, glancing over at her, measures of minatory, but likely anxious, prowess, tilting his head at the rest of the wares she’d laden. “Do you need help with anything?” Are you ready? was the next inquiry on his lips, but kept it to himself, assisting with whatever she required, stalwart and disastrous, hand clenching over one of hers in a tight squeeze, before grabbing a seat, claiming his position at her side. They would come, and then the world would fall together. Or they’d crumble amongst themselves, too irreverent with one another to ever impart more than petty games and schemes.
But they had to try.
The hollowed, midnight oils and shadows covered his figure, required no cloak on the memorized path, roaming the streets as if it were a customary procedure: wander, wander, wander, until he saw the bakery’s lights, little beacons and drawbridges, coaxing them in from the dusk and twilight. The beast made no hesitation in his steps, just as nefarious, just as seditious, as the molten creeds stored within his undying wake: lingering along the threshold until he came to the half-door hidden by clumps of lavender (stifled his chuckle; the flowers of revolution had apparently already started with him), before bending, crawling through the makeshift aperture. He was silent and certain, and ensured both opening and closing of the entry was quiet, hushed, and when he glanced into the familiar basement (only before it had been littered with debris and stone golems), he raised his piercing gaze to the baker, in the corner, mug in hand.
“Amalia,” he presided, straightening out to his full height, glancing over at her, measures of minatory, but likely anxious, prowess, tilting his head at the rest of the wares she’d laden. “Do you need help with anything?” Are you ready? was the next inquiry on his lips, but kept it to himself, assisting with whatever she required, stalwart and disastrous, hand clenching over one of hers in a tight squeeze, before grabbing a seat, claiming his position at her side. They would come, and then the world would fall together. Or they’d crumble amongst themselves, too irreverent with one another to ever impart more than petty games and schemes.
But they had to try.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
