centuries deep

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame His eyes went from Safrin, and then back to the door, pondering on the wiles and machinations stirring there too. In the grand scheme of things, he supposed it would likely be safer here, where no Ascended would tread (not without a death wish, as of late), in case the shelter he chose still didn’t provide a great option. Despite his great need for penance, redemption for wrongdoing, he wouldn’t ignore rational, reasonable contortions either. “All right,” a rumble orchestrating from his throat, accepting this as a course of action. He removed the door from the cart, and placed it down before the goddess – surveying it once more, amongst the repaired lantern, lacking its whale light, and the wind chimes. “Thank you. I will return.” He offered the slightest of smiles, before pulling the cart along, out of the sanction, with new knowledge to acquire. {FIN} master of nothing place; of recoil and grace