i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty
He should’ve realized, far, far sooner, along the key differences. How he couldn’t feel the emotions sizzling and searing back and forth, how it was just his in the dark, his own piercing back over his heart again and again and again. Too far gone in the confusion, in the murk, in the relief, the thoughts weren’t immersed in the sanctions of what she’d become, of what would become of her, of them, or if it really mattered. For once, he lived in the moment, instead of the calculations, the plots, the schemes, the Reaper howls contorting down ridges in spines; he had her, and she was safe, and that was enough.
The Sword could hear the sadness though, and he hated it – but had no way of providing some angle of contentment when a majority of the news was damned. A nod followed first, as he opened the door to the barracks, as the darkened walls played with the gentle lull of the fire, as Zuriel’s head rose from the hearth in some startled, shocked expression, as the world threatened to give way. “Yes.”
He swallowed down the harsh, unrelenting haze of the trauma, of what must’ve been her last moments; a stranglehold hastening down as he released her for a second to close the aperture, to place the lanterns in his other hand on the barrack table, leaving them for later. What could he say next? That he was sorry? That he wished he could’ve been there to save her? That everything had gone so horribly, horribly wrong once she’d been erased and vanquished? “But metal was embedded in him, and Loren got it out.” Scars to prove his legacy, his moment. The monolith pulled out a chair, uncertain if she wanted to sit, uncertain if he wanted to do anything but stand and not sway. “It seemed to cause many to become ill.”
The Sword could hear the sadness though, and he hated it – but had no way of providing some angle of contentment when a majority of the news was damned. A nod followed first, as he opened the door to the barracks, as the darkened walls played with the gentle lull of the fire, as Zuriel’s head rose from the hearth in some startled, shocked expression, as the world threatened to give way. “Yes.”
He swallowed down the harsh, unrelenting haze of the trauma, of what must’ve been her last moments; a stranglehold hastening down as he released her for a second to close the aperture, to place the lanterns in his other hand on the barrack table, leaving them for later. What could he say next? That he was sorry? That he wished he could’ve been there to save her? That everything had gone so horribly, horribly wrong once she’d been erased and vanquished? “But metal was embedded in him, and Loren got it out.” Scars to prove his legacy, his moment. The monolith pulled out a chair, uncertain if she wanted to sit, uncertain if he wanted to do anything but stand and not sway. “It seemed to cause many to become ill.”
or your stubbornness?
DEIMOS
