Deimos
The afternoon churning into evening whims, celebrations and ceremonies beneath stars, connections finally, ultimately forged, a lesson in love, benedictions, and devotion. The convictions shared by rings donned on fingers, by promises, by sword and shield prowess, by contented notes under constellations and galaxy perfection. Sanctions and sanctums, then a few breaths more, before they lingered, then advanced, back upon the bakery for another turn of commemoration. Merriment, delight, and shared happiness before Deepfrost’s roots settled into their bones, bound to be expressed, lifted, and anointed along the outskirts of the threshold.
Granted and given more than they could ask for by their brethren: the lantern lights glowed and glistened, lined along the garden, the pathways towards laden stands with refreshments, cake, and other portions of food. Chairs upon chairs, placed alongside tables (empty spaces reserved; touched upon with a miniature black dragon and ornamental gun, clearly labeled Adam, and a minute, bony figment of a tiny luxere, meant for Peter), while the decorations, streamers, and banners, all representations of things their companions, their friends, their loved ones had composed and orchestrated, donned the trails and outlines of the unfolding party.
These moments to be shared amongst the rest of their world, Deimos turned towards Amalia, lavender sprig still tucked behind his ear, an inhale, an exhale instilled, head ducked down, mouth pressed to her gilded hairline. Ready? An eternal inquiry; ready for anything and everything, ready for the shape of the stars to alter, ready for the manifestation of rapture and bliss, for as long as they could grasp and hold it together.
{Open wedding reception! Come and have a good time before Deepfrost sets in!}
Granted and given more than they could ask for by their brethren: the lantern lights glowed and glistened, lined along the garden, the pathways towards laden stands with refreshments, cake, and other portions of food. Chairs upon chairs, placed alongside tables (empty spaces reserved; touched upon with a miniature black dragon and ornamental gun, clearly labeled Adam, and a minute, bony figment of a tiny luxere, meant for Peter), while the decorations, streamers, and banners, all representations of things their companions, their friends, their loved ones had composed and orchestrated, donned the trails and outlines of the unfolding party.
These moments to be shared amongst the rest of their world, Deimos turned towards Amalia, lavender sprig still tucked behind his ear, an inhale, an exhale instilled, head ducked down, mouth pressed to her gilded hairline. Ready? An eternal inquiry; ready for anything and everything, ready for the shape of the stars to alter, ready for the manifestation of rapture and bliss, for as long as they could grasp and hold it together.
{Open wedding reception! Come and have a good time before Deepfrost sets in!}
i rule the stars, not the other way around
