Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
Suddenly, the palpable excitement from the Ascended drained him of any notions, and he thought about backpedaling, skirting out of the issue, and never bringing it up again. The second statement physically hurt, and at the clenching of his hands, he broke off a portion of a hoof, and had to pulse more fabrications and parameters into it to repair before Bastien noticed. “I doubt she would enjoy it. Or want it,” mumbled quietly, sinking down into his fingers so they shook, before he took another breath. All the other things he’d ever done or made for her, all the love, all the shelter, all the sanctuaries, hadn’t kept her near.
Hadn’t kept anyone – they still disappeared, died, floated off into the ethers.
The General swallowed, tried to bring his thoughts back to something less melancholy, less rooted in self-loathing. He managed another snort as Bastien tried to recall which facets belonged to which character – an easy thing to mess up and distinguish when there’d been such a host of them. “No. This one was the elephant-like beast.”
The artist’s perspective on Rexanna, on the way regrets didn’t seem to hasten, didn’t seem to dawn, pierced over his mind, and he attempted concentration once more on the figure in his palms, adhering to one last coat of dark, dark gray, before offering it for examination. Is that what he should’ve been doing instead? Relishing all the good, instead of the gnarled pain breaking through his chest, his ribs, his bones? He didn’t know. He felt like he knew absolutely nothing.
As to where to place these memorials, these odes and opuses to lives well-lived, he hadn’t thought of it – piercing eyes flickering over to the barrack windows. “Did she have a favorite spot?”
Hadn’t kept anyone – they still disappeared, died, floated off into the ethers.
The General swallowed, tried to bring his thoughts back to something less melancholy, less rooted in self-loathing. He managed another snort as Bastien tried to recall which facets belonged to which character – an easy thing to mess up and distinguish when there’d been such a host of them. “No. This one was the elephant-like beast.”
The artist’s perspective on Rexanna, on the way regrets didn’t seem to hasten, didn’t seem to dawn, pierced over his mind, and he attempted concentration once more on the figure in his palms, adhering to one last coat of dark, dark gray, before offering it for examination. Is that what he should’ve been doing instead? Relishing all the good, instead of the gnarled pain breaking through his chest, his ribs, his bones? He didn’t know. He felt like he knew absolutely nothing.
As to where to place these memorials, these odes and opuses to lives well-lived, he hadn’t thought of it – piercing eyes flickering over to the barrack windows. “Did she have a favorite spot?”
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
