DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Deimos was content to witness the theatrics, just not play a part in them (never one with a flair for the dramatic; more inclined to action and response, to motions and maneuvers). The depths of his eyes wandered back and forth over the summoner’s gestures, and then towards the luxere, as if understanding how it suffered. An amused snort followed through, flicking along with the weight of the attuned connections, not entirely fussed with the goldfish’s predicaments. Maybe they were Reaper tendencies, or just the foolish notions of predacious felines, hunting down anything they moved, inclined to torture and maim out of pure mirth. Trauma builds character. Now they have stories to tell. An inward snicker, granting and giving naught else, his tail swindled back and forth, perhaps the only betrayal of movement on his part, otherwise a stony figure and Colossus along the shoreline, basking in the sun’s rays.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
