Hang hallowed halos

Deimos He’d seen a god. Did this mean he was destined to meet another? No. But when Safrin failed to simply ignore him, dissuade him, send him dissipating off into the ether, or discard him as a speck of dust, he couldn’t signify the direction he was supposed to be going in. More than likely, it was Amalia’s influence, ability, and love for the celestial being that even allowed him to be within their presence – but there were possibilities now. Possibilities that not all of them were as kind as Safrin. Possibilities that he’d never view upon one again. Possibilities that he could try and maybe not be neglected. It was a low likelihood, and the Reaper wasn’t about to convince himself otherwise; he’d lived through enough hardships, enough begging, enough pleading, enough heads downcast at the foot of a shrine to know it was likely all for naught. But there were too many things going on: chaos reigning and spiraling in every direction, for him not to give it an effort. If he was spurned or slighted, then he could continue working on his plots, his machinations, his schemes with others. What was he even turning into? He scoffed, sneered, snorted at himself inwardly as he proceeded into the woods, into the haunted sanctions with its eerie lanterns and intangible hues; the only distinction of a shrine highlighted by two towering trees, boughs long and lingering, over an ivory candle. The beast, silent, but certain of his motives, reached into the bag across his shoulder, and dug his way through the threshold. Zuriel maneuvered somewhere behind him, her noble head lifted to glance into the void, the abyss, of the surrounding world. His intended gifts were eventually grasped, ensnared, and pulled, placing a white feather and dark, onyx stones upon the shelf. Then he waited for inevitable. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime