DEIMOS
The piercing slate of his eyes stared into Bastien’s – he saw and felt the weight of his anger, and didn’t, couldn’t, fault him for it. Deimos would’ve stared upon himself the same way – measured and demanding, flattened and commanding, wanting answers for how and why. Numbed and bound, carved out of his soul, there was no sanction, no solace for him now, nothing he could sink into and believe in. It was his doing, this unraveled, damned mess, some ignited contortion of protection and safeguarding overwhelmed, overworked, overwrought with the broken cataclysms. Deimos couldn’t take any of it back, and the hardened framework of his figure felt like falling into pieces right there in the room. Were he capable of taking her place, he would have, allowed himself the torture of dying out there in the crossroads, at the gatekeep of sanctuaries. This wasn’t what it’d meant to be – not at all. “I asked Safrin to make a door to repel the monsters.” Bastien would be able to fill in the blanks there – the aperture, the scene, the bombardment of everything else.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
