DEIMOS
The dusk spread between his strides, a pace neither frenetic nor leisurely, strong and stalwart, conviction in their movement, an eternity of determination stoked in veins and lacquer. Entering the infirmary always brought some segments of ghosts and phantoms though, and maybe that’s why he stayed for short intervals, checking in on the Shield, then departing for duties and responsibilities before he was accused of hovering, returning in the evening. Here were stark moments spread in death and damnation; hers once, a LongNight scalding, and ruminations of another world entirely, when he could do absolutely nothing but watch his world crumble to pieces, drowned in the murk, in the rivers, in the currents of a lost rain.
Not now though – not when goddesses had given and granted him opportunity, not when he refused to be buried and burned under the rubble of their persecutions and perils; head above the surface, grasping for air and struggling to breathe, muscles unwinding, unfurling, begging to be released.
He made the familiar trek, threading through halls and parlors, ignoring the shape of the distorted temple nearby, the offshoot of fallen wares, bricks, and stones, clenching his jaw, biting down on the enamel in the back of his mouth, eyes shifting back to beds and bandages, finding hers in the fading light by the window, the press of the full moon promising, another moment to be fulfilled. There was too much silence, an indication of rest, so he shifted, quietly, across floorboards, as if he were part of the shadow, part of the darkness, before settling in a chair beside her cot.
Only then did a bone-deep exhaustion spread: from the hours, the days, the moments he’d spent piercing and puncturing, roaming and pushing, intending to not give or grant himself enough time to think about anything. Leaning forward, not mulling, not musing once more, he pressed his palms along the ivory sheets and surface, a heavy sigh looming in his chest, thinking about reaching for her hands somewhere in the midst – second guessing it thereafter, not wishing to disturb. So instead, his head followed, resting on forearms, eyelids threatening their heavy closure, and despite his rapid blinking, the strain, the fight, they slowly descended, brought him to slumber.
Not now though – not when goddesses had given and granted him opportunity, not when he refused to be buried and burned under the rubble of their persecutions and perils; head above the surface, grasping for air and struggling to breathe, muscles unwinding, unfurling, begging to be released.
He made the familiar trek, threading through halls and parlors, ignoring the shape of the distorted temple nearby, the offshoot of fallen wares, bricks, and stones, clenching his jaw, biting down on the enamel in the back of his mouth, eyes shifting back to beds and bandages, finding hers in the fading light by the window, the press of the full moon promising, another moment to be fulfilled. There was too much silence, an indication of rest, so he shifted, quietly, across floorboards, as if he were part of the shadow, part of the darkness, before settling in a chair beside her cot.
Only then did a bone-deep exhaustion spread: from the hours, the days, the moments he’d spent piercing and puncturing, roaming and pushing, intending to not give or grant himself enough time to think about anything. Leaning forward, not mulling, not musing once more, he pressed his palms along the ivory sheets and surface, a heavy sigh looming in his chest, thinking about reaching for her hands somewhere in the midst – second guessing it thereafter, not wishing to disturb. So instead, his head followed, resting on forearms, eyelids threatening their heavy closure, and despite his rapid blinking, the strain, the fight, they slowly descended, brought him to slumber.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
