DEIMOS
Perhaps they were the same in that way; Deimos would take any disastrous wake upon his frame, upon his soul, for the sake of others. The litany of scars scattered across his figure were a testament, a statement of fact, crisscrossed and maligned in ivory statures and marks, twisting and turning over stories, over days of constant lacerations and bombardments. They signified survival, persistence, oblivion, endurance, what he’d undertake for kingdoms, for people, for allies, for comrades, for loved ones. The emotional baggage that came along was far heavier, far more cumbersome, than his blood drenched across floors.
He dropped down too, a descent, a plummet, so his talons nearly gripped into sand, the touch of heat and molten infernos, before rising back up, listening to the caution in his tone, a narrowing of his eyes, a suspicious venture. Yes.
He dropped down too, a descent, a plummet, so his talons nearly gripped into sand, the touch of heat and molten infernos, before rising back up, listening to the caution in his tone, a narrowing of his eyes, a suspicious venture. Yes.
gatekeeper of an endless war
where lines between right and wrong
don't exist anymore
