Deimos the Reaper You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this long and lonely road to hell the throne must be such a sad and lonely place Curiosity hadn’t been to his benefit this time: all at once he’d been followed by this gnat, drifting behind him like a mocking, obstinate fly. He likely would’ve been better off wallowing and wandering towards the tavern, drunk on alcohol and misery, melancholy wiles and brooding tendencies; this cretin appeared to be of the impish, irritating sort. The beast had met his fair share when he’d gone to war – other fledgling boys waiting for their chance to kill, to strike, but not taking themselves seriously in the slightest. Some had been the first to fall, struck before they’d had a chance to defend themselves. Some managed to survive. Some had been broken, no longer offering shield and sword. Their tricks and guiles hadn’t meant anything to an enemy or adversary, all a blur, all a form, only a figurine standing in their way.
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Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary