DEIMOS
Frustrated, vexed, tired – he didn’t say a multitude of things either, kept them at bay, kept them down in the wake of his transgressions, in the patterns and networks he’d chosen to follow. Perhaps they match that accord, in a way, the unknown not really so vast and deep: both tired, both insouciant, both unraveling, fumbling through bonds, a slip of the vestiges and veneers, grappling with unsaid notations and things that weren’t really furtive or secretive. He didn’t need to think or say what the stark difference was: clear and vast.
Better now held too many meanings, but the Sword didn’t ask anymore; didn’t believe it was his influence, wouldn’t toil into its ramparts. The fiend didn’t even know how to place an answer into her own inquiry, a volleying back and forth of ruins and runes that wouldn’t require much deciphering, if given into the unraveling, if given into the fumbling strands. I am fine didn’t constitute anything but meaningless drivel, and it wasn’t true, and she deserved more than lies sputtering on his tongue. He likely wouldn’t be until she was.
Leaning closer, careful not to disturb the patchworks of darkness, the threads threatening to pull at seams, more hushed whispers coincided, still rumbles in the dusk. “Busy,” and there was a smile, mischievous, devilish in the shadows, somewhere in the quiet, of plans and ministrations, of moments he hoped would lead to healing and soothing. His eyes slipped to the full moon broadening outside the window, then back to her. “Come with me? I have a task I cannot do alone.”
Better now held too many meanings, but the Sword didn’t ask anymore; didn’t believe it was his influence, wouldn’t toil into its ramparts. The fiend didn’t even know how to place an answer into her own inquiry, a volleying back and forth of ruins and runes that wouldn’t require much deciphering, if given into the unraveling, if given into the fumbling strands. I am fine didn’t constitute anything but meaningless drivel, and it wasn’t true, and she deserved more than lies sputtering on his tongue. He likely wouldn’t be until she was.
Leaning closer, careful not to disturb the patchworks of darkness, the threads threatening to pull at seams, more hushed whispers coincided, still rumbles in the dusk. “Busy,” and there was a smile, mischievous, devilish in the shadows, somewhere in the quiet, of plans and ministrations, of moments he hoped would lead to healing and soothing. His eyes slipped to the full moon broadening outside the window, then back to her. “Come with me? I have a task I cannot do alone.”
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
