DEIMOS
Regularly immersed in trials, tribulations, sacrifices, dismay, regret, and loss, the monolith sometimes forgot there were things that existed for joy. For amusements. Without semblances of danger at every turn, without monstrous ties, without a looming, ominous setting. So try as he might, there were no wicked doldrums exuding from its sanction. There were no demonic emblems creeping and crawling from its essence. A gift, he repeated, echoed, trying to make sense of the phenomenon. And maybe Chulane was right. Maybe there wasn’t meant to be one. That for all his logic and machinations, it might not have been entangled in this flora.And he had to be all right with that.
Were he in human form, his brows would’ve been furrowed. Instead, his talons clung neatly to the tree, wings and feathers puffing out in a hapless shrug. The subject altered and changed though, for the better, and he ceased, smothered down, the immediate implications of other Ascendeds rising.
It wasn’t time for calculations. For scheming. For plots. For wondering just how far manipulation and coercion would travel and traverse. It’d remain in the back of his mind, as most often things did until he had to unearth, unfurl, release them into the pits and pendulums.
He’d rather express the gratitude that Kiada was alive and whole. Even if she wasn’t the same as before. It did. A pause, his eyes lifting, the puncturing gaze not pinpointing towards Chulane, but along the rest of the pathway, towards cobblestones and those gathered. Though he didn’t quite see them, didn’t fixate on their movements. Just mere distractions. You two spoke. A statement, not an inquiry; Deimos knew the Harpy well. How she’d been anxious. Worried. Far more frenetic than he’d ever seen her. But he’d allow the farmer to fill in the gaps.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
