DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Finishing touches were made, assembled, prides retaken or extinguished, hands closing over delicate objects and solidifying their expanse within boxes. The Wraith chose to tidy up, and before long the Artisan’s Guild project, and its stalls, had been finalized and cleaned. Closing up one of the last packages, and tying it off with a piece of hardy string, he surveyed the room and their accomplishments. “Well done,” and he nodded to each of them in turn, maneuvering some of the cases onto a cart he’d use to transport to the Greatwood. “I can deliver these later. I hope you all enjoy yourselves at the Fiat Lux, and thank you for helping.” However much they could enthrall themselves within the merriment – but he didn’t want his misgivings to angle and permeate through. Too many things and events, trials and tribulations, had occurred over the years, and naught felt very sacred anymore.
Perhaps it would be all in the way they made it for themselves.
--
Thank you to everyone!
{FIN}
Perhaps it would be all in the way they made it for themselves.
--
Thank you to everyone!
{FIN}
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
