DEIMOS
Anger – he could understand anger. Wrath, abhorrence, and contempt had made up a large portion of his life in Helovia – incensed and enraged at every damned turn at the deceit of others, at the power-hungry swings of politics, at the manipulations of gods. There had been lulls, periods and times of repose, but they were scalding and brief, as if he didn’t know what to do with the time, hours spent not calculating, bludgeoning, or ominously threading his way through the world. At her notions, he bowed his head for the simplicity – eyes stalwart and staring out at the expanse, the winding path, the luminescence on the horizon.Deimos could hardly remember her other companion; memories hazy, sometimes distant, only prolonged along the course of dreams, slumber, or nightmares, and often times he wasn’t certain if they were portions of truth or just an assembling of thoughts and ghosts. It felt like an area he wasn’t supposed to intrude upon, private, confidential, unless she deigned to share any further; he wouldn’t pry, he wouldn’t infringe. The beast sighed though, uncertain of what to say or how to proceed. His experiences with bonded connections were so minimal, with only Zuriel for guidance. He amended his statement instead, a pulse of confident composure and comfort through their attuned natures. Lucky to have one another, then.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
