Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
It felt like a rare opportunity to be in his home nowadays; not busy bristling within the barracks and preparing armor, weaponry, or refurbishing targets, not stalking the length of the Artisan’s Guild, checking over stalls and kiosks, or distracted by the call of another, lingering around for advice, sagacity, or just a listening ear. Once Amalia had left, another welcome distraction, he lingered around doing various other chores, before returning back into the confines of the house, the table now his workspace. Concentration furrowed along his brow, tactics and precision carved a niche in his movements, and for a lengthy amount of time he sketched and drew, hands outlining pieces and enamel on parchment, crossing out various designs or adding to the conflagration of conspiracies. He took various breaks in between, torn in the concept of agonizing over the details, or letting inspiration take hold, before finally settling back down into his chair and corresponding to the latter.
A hushed glow, a quiet fortitude, a laden set of prosperities and deep-rooted affections unfolded along his hands, and when they were finally woven and pieced together, interlocking, but also completely removable from one another, he gazed upon them for a great, long while. Silver, gold, ramparts, dedication, flanked, unguarded thing tucked along enamel and argent, and a great billowing sigh following thereafter, overthinking, overplanning, the calculations and devises flickering over his mind until they were an all-consuming venture, striving for perfection and uncertain if he’d ever cross that threshold.
The General’s eyes narrowed, before hiding and guarding, placing furtive, secretive stances and upheavals elsewhere, before shuffling the papers away or into the hearth’s reach, giving away nothing, nothing, nothing.
A hushed glow, a quiet fortitude, a laden set of prosperities and deep-rooted affections unfolded along his hands, and when they were finally woven and pieced together, interlocking, but also completely removable from one another, he gazed upon them for a great, long while. Silver, gold, ramparts, dedication, flanked, unguarded thing tucked along enamel and argent, and a great billowing sigh following thereafter, overthinking, overplanning, the calculations and devises flickering over his mind until they were an all-consuming venture, striving for perfection and uncertain if he’d ever cross that threshold.
The General’s eyes narrowed, before hiding and guarding, placing furtive, secretive stances and upheavals elsewhere, before shuffling the papers away or into the hearth’s reach, giving away nothing, nothing, nothing.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
