DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Deimos’ interactions with Safrin had only been while she was affected by the blight – never quite whole, never quite tangible, filaments of dust and stars amongst blackened, Stygian tendrils, like gazing into the abyss instead of a perfected twilight. His first experience had been along the shrine, watching as she perceived their gifts and creation, briefly acknowledged in her existence – and when he’d asked for more power, more strength, anything else, she’d obliged. “She told me I had the power within.” When he’d asked, when he’d begged, when he’d craved, as he always had, as he’d always strived, sometimes no different from those Reaper backdrops slinking in his soul. “Then she dropped me from the sky.” One chance, one opportunity, for him to scream and shout and plead to be brought back from his descent, but he’d been silent, believing he was going to die until the ghosts swarmed around him, until the phantoms and wraiths shouted their commands. “She was right.” Then he shrugged, as if it was naught, nothing, just another passing mercurial whim. He hadn’t seen her since, but heard the whispers when he’d sought out some form of guidance, sagacity, before LongNight’s reign; it’d been the same undulations as before. His eyes drifted to the canvas-wall too, following after the Fallen Star’s attention. “Very well.” Which was the truth – a bristling of feathers and plumage snaked and roped its way along his arm, glancing down upon it with a careful perusal and study, golden and tawny, eagle adornments. “I enjoy the freedom.” Flying, being able to traverse and sail through the sky. “And you?” He queried, knowing Ronin was amongst the favored, like Amalia, brought back to life by archaic hands and other notions, actions, at work. How did it feel to be amongst the chosen – genuine curiosity coiling in his efforts, instead of the usual irreverence.
Unite and spread the heart apart
