our terrible story of survival

Deimos the Reaper master of nothing place, of recoil and grace The unicorn was ignored, and so she merely meandered along the sidelines, tending to protection, if it was required, a witness to reunions that had little to do with her. He, on the other hand, was a disbelieving quandary, eyes widening in shock, in awe, of things returning back to him, in measures and motions he didn’t deserve, couldn’t have ever warranted, wouldn’t have ever dreamed. Maybe these were delusions, hallucinations, diabolical schemes crafted from his overwhelmed brain, caught in the renegade cycles of aspirations and ambitions never to be concocted again. Maybe the foolishness of his life had caught up to him, barreling into his chest and ribs, clattering in the sanction of stars and monoliths, of auroras and basins, of mountains stretching into the skyline, scorching heavens he’d never dreamt of seeing. She drifted closer and closer, movement, light, and sound, and he stood there, the blade long since dropped into the snow, watching it all as one would a ghost – disbelieving, intrigued, waiting for reality to sink into his limbs and curse his soul - this is not for you the world might echo, constantly amused in how it could bombard and assault him. And the Reaper, the Sword, would take it all, because he thought he deserved each and every siege plunged into his flesh and bone. Why had the void chosen Hotaru as a malediction to him now? She’d been light along the surface of the earth, presiding in her wiles, in her factions, in her power, while he’d roamed and circled the darkness, sinking and simmering, seething and seizing, both taking careful measures to ascertain dominance and supremacy in a realm full of intricate secrets and duplicitous webs. It’d been teamwork, he the munitions, the fortress, and she the heart, the soul, and he assumed thereafter, when his breath had fizzled and ceased, when his eyes closed, when rain drowned and burned. Perhaps he’d been too greedy, too avaricious, taking and taking and taking and presently the earth thought to ruin his days with more overbearing voids - remember? - they could call in furies and ferocity, kicking him when he was down like he’d done to so many others. But her tangible presence was unmistakable when she floated above the snow, born to its rime, to its midst, blending into the elements, when sounds broke over the silence, when she was suddenly before him, a touch, a fringe of movement and motion. Then he realized her tangibility, corporeal, not wraith or phantom, not a scheme of tactical punishment, but real and whole and there, and the depths of his chest widened on a lengthy exhale, breathing in relief and agony and heartache. He absorbed her soused eyes and sharp smile; memories of old gliding over him like an ancient recoil, primordial days spent ensuring their kingdom was strong and mighty while they threatened to fall apart. He thought he might here too, except he leaned down – had she ever been so small and so strong and so stalwart all at once? – plucking her off of the ground and into his presence. Too lithe, too tiny, too minute; this incarnation represented little of what he could recall of her, or perhaps she’d always filled the room with other things, a presence larger than life. “You found me,” he honored and endeavored, something wet at the back of his throat, in his gasp, in the motion behind his eyes, where she couldn’t see, where she couldn’t tease and mock. He swallowed down the machinations, the press of regrets and rues, the shocking sensation of worlds colliding back into him. “Sorry,” was a musing bout, a raw chuckle, a quaking, shuddering breath released from him, clutching her carefully. “You could never look bad.” He joked again, uncertain of what he’d done to earn these moments all over again.

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