Unlike them, don't walk away from my fear
I've busted bones, broken stones
Hands on shoulders instead of claws; breathing easier as they float in the serenity, in the ambience, stretches and paths of moonlight rippling in sanctions, in sanctuaries, in sanctums. The jar wasn’t taken in her grasp though, sent back to his own - his quest, eventful circumstances leading to strange occasions; requesting a god’s aid, admitting he couldn’t do something on his own. For her, the constant anthem and pledge.
Even more bizarre were the circumstances following: fingers clutching the crystal container again, leaning forward, only the notion of trying to snag the water lifted into his thoughts: when the liquid sailed, cascaded, and maneuvered on its own. A layer of confusion clung to his mind, suspicion clambering alongside, pondering if it was just the wake of enigmatic twists and turns, if it was something the Oasis clambered about and within. Except he lifted a digit, a singular command in his machinations, and witnessed droplets rise from the pool, and fall directly into the jar again. Like pale flashes of moonlight, the magic in their hue dissipating once they were snatched and locked away, they erupted and volleyed, pursuing one another in consecrated streaks, more and more each time.
Deimos had nothing to say for a few moments, watching, swallowing, choking down too many edges and fringes. His chest tightened, quick, controlled breaths released from his lungs over and over again as naught but his mind seemed to cast the water along the surface, the veneer, the entity. The beast had once seen this sort of thing over and over and over again – powerful and potent, fluid and strong, casting walls and shields, gripping and pulling tides, segmented along stern brows and hushed, quiet strength. This is my mother’s magic. Ghosts and poignancy clambered and rushed around his cranium, and he fell even more subdued, quiet, at the notions of what it could mean, gaze falling upon the glassy surface when he ceased, when it stilled, when the jar had been filled.
Even more bizarre were the circumstances following: fingers clutching the crystal container again, leaning forward, only the notion of trying to snag the water lifted into his thoughts: when the liquid sailed, cascaded, and maneuvered on its own. A layer of confusion clung to his mind, suspicion clambering alongside, pondering if it was just the wake of enigmatic twists and turns, if it was something the Oasis clambered about and within. Except he lifted a digit, a singular command in his machinations, and witnessed droplets rise from the pool, and fall directly into the jar again. Like pale flashes of moonlight, the magic in their hue dissipating once they were snatched and locked away, they erupted and volleyed, pursuing one another in consecrated streaks, more and more each time.
Deimos had nothing to say for a few moments, watching, swallowing, choking down too many edges and fringes. His chest tightened, quick, controlled breaths released from his lungs over and over again as naught but his mind seemed to cast the water along the surface, the veneer, the entity. The beast had once seen this sort of thing over and over and over again – powerful and potent, fluid and strong, casting walls and shields, gripping and pulling tides, segmented along stern brows and hushed, quiet strength. This is my mother’s magic. Ghosts and poignancy clambered and rushed around his cranium, and he fell even more subdued, quiet, at the notions of what it could mean, gaze falling upon the glassy surface when he ceased, when it stilled, when the jar had been filled.
looked the devil in the eye
I hope he's going to break these chains
DEIMOS
