Deimos
The opportunity to startle, to surprise, to enact some ether and vestiges of mischief in the preamble, prelude, or beyond prior deluges of fire and flames, was enough to satisfy his devilish, seditious inspiration. Temptation to continue presiding in his boyish ambitions rested somewhere in the midst; but there were better assignations and designs likely. There would’ve been a massive snicker or chuckle, if beaks allowed it, across his features at her shock, at the segment of snapping, lightning strands (bristling magic and enchantments; would’ve been a lifted brow in human contortions), then a frown, a jab, rolling off his shoulders quickly, efficiently, as he shifted and altered back into his normal, monolithic form. “You could try,” he teased and taunted, an affectionate, brotherly connotation, from years as comrades, from years as monarchs, from years away from those footfalls and pressures (though there wouldn’t be any surprise at all if she did, and then he’d have to add being electrocuted on his last of injuries acquired). Now there were other overwhelming, overbearing ventures. Now there were crucial, crushing matters. Now there were a hundred other things to accomplish. Deeper and deeper still, those wayfaring depths, pressures, and anomalies, indecision suddenly weighing on him as to why she was there, on his threshold, on his doorstep. He stepped closer to his door, hand on the knob to invite her inside, waiting, watching, for any anticipation or explanation. “How are you?” The Sword asked instead, the enormity of her first LongNight behind her, other anvils, axes, pits, and pendulums scorching, reeling, and settling into their brambles, intertwining upon shoulders and paths.
i rule the stars, not the other way around
