DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Memories of the open forum were interesting – the spirals of Rexanna’s insinuation into the sovereignty’s seats, poised to orchestrate devious means and measures, Zariah meandering along questions and inquiries lofted by her subjects, the promise of rebellion in the air from the moment she mustered promises and took them away in the same breath. “Zariah held one in the Temple. She wanted to hear from the inhabitants, but failed to listen or change much of anything.” A show, pretenses and stages, their lines falling on deaf ears. A shrug then and there too – because it didn’t matter after, when sedition and revolution had spread. Afterwards, they had their own ridiculous contortions to unravel and unfurl. He shook his head, pondering if it was likely the same thing would continue in Halo, if it would fissure and crack under her machinations and tendencies, if something would buckle or burst, if people would rise against the tyranny, or fall apart beneath its scruples. Wessex’s reign had been far more peaceful at the beginning; no one had born the weight of a thousand leagues and fathoms upon their shoulders. It only seemed to unravel on the edges of the blight, on the residual effects of pestilence, and then drifted in distorted seams now, portals opened and Fae relations dissolved, prices and penance emerging. “Wessex is capable of attending to us. But after recent events, who is to say what will occur.” What was to come though was difficult to predict, especially after the stories he’d heard from both Loren and Jigano alike, after Amalia’s wrath, after, after, after everything else threatening to spiral and flicker. His brows furrowed, eyes glancing at the stones littering the street, the cat curling its way along his neck, tail bending around his nape. The piercing opus only lifted once more to rivet on the summoner in conviction. “We will be ready.” For turnovers. For rebuttals. For unleashing. For repose. For something. The misgivings and apprehension settled within his core though, because he’d experienced far too many meetings where vehemence, abhorrence, and naught in between existed, simmering on the fringes, yearning, waiting to explode.
Unite and spread the heart apart
