DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
An ease over misgivings and uncertainties, thriving on the sea-salt winds as he spiraled them around islands and shifts in currents; comfortable and composed, no longer so exposed to the venomous tendrils of consternation and trepidation. Yes, the crook of a smile that could’ve, would’ve, manifested were he in human deliberations; rendering the plague of her nerves unnecessary. The measure of the Sword’s efforts burrowed into their bonds, into their connections, strong and stalwart, steadfast and assured, claiming naught else but the bounty of his contentment. He’d had a wonderful time, something to savor, relish, and cherish in his memories as happier contortions in the coming days and hours, of long-lasting evenings of terror and fiends. Even if I did not win musical chairs. A deep chuckle followed and flickered, and the press of heartbeats intertwined in drumming accords as he flew on and on, as support was borne again and again.
--
The reel of twilight didn’t entirely cease their merriment, and certainly not their ardor, but the mischief waned as the world pressed back upon them. Eventually the realm would clamber back, would remind them of responsibilities, would seethe and sear down backbones; but not now, not as he passed the wine Weaver had given them, not when there was more to snag, have, and hold. Curled and coiled in amongst one another, Deimos could stay there for eternity and not be bothered, settled into the gentle lull of the waves, the rush of the whispers against his skin, the shudder through his spine.
He was in no rush to see Sam, when the guilt bit along his shoulders, when he wasn't certain how to amend it, when the end seemed so very near. Repose would be gone, the sanctity and sanctums blurred. He grunted something noncommittal, likely an agreement, as his piercing eyes flickered over the evening sky, as the world began to spin anew in a new light. So he searched and spied amidst their twilight coating, and after a few moments, found the most-familiar one in the sanctuary, in the hallowed cosmos, rising above. “There,” and the General pointed, directing her to the luminescent boundary, to the fringes of starlight and poise. “That is our gift.” A pause, to let her stare, to let her wonder, before he continued. “When we wear our rings, and find ourselves separated, no matter where we are, it will shine the brightest. So we know we are looking at the same figment.” The same glory in the sky; never entirely apart.
--
The reel of twilight didn’t entirely cease their merriment, and certainly not their ardor, but the mischief waned as the world pressed back upon them. Eventually the realm would clamber back, would remind them of responsibilities, would seethe and sear down backbones; but not now, not as he passed the wine Weaver had given them, not when there was more to snag, have, and hold. Curled and coiled in amongst one another, Deimos could stay there for eternity and not be bothered, settled into the gentle lull of the waves, the rush of the whispers against his skin, the shudder through his spine.
He was in no rush to see Sam, when the guilt bit along his shoulders, when he wasn't certain how to amend it, when the end seemed so very near. Repose would be gone, the sanctity and sanctums blurred. He grunted something noncommittal, likely an agreement, as his piercing eyes flickered over the evening sky, as the world began to spin anew in a new light. So he searched and spied amidst their twilight coating, and after a few moments, found the most-familiar one in the sanctuary, in the hallowed cosmos, rising above. “There,” and the General pointed, directing her to the luminescent boundary, to the fringes of starlight and poise. “That is our gift.” A pause, to let her stare, to let her wonder, before he continued. “When we wear our rings, and find ourselves separated, no matter where we are, it will shine the brightest. So we know we are looking at the same figment.” The same glory in the sky; never entirely apart.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
