[Seasonal Event] summer in the sun, winter in the shade

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Since this day seemingly only intended to reach the heights of ridiculousness, the Reaper suddenly found himself surrounded by small, identical looking children, and considered his options. There was always his favored enchantments, the invocations searing and seething below his flesh. It would be easy to desecrate small, infantile sorts; it probably would only take a slow pulse or two of the vicious, nefarious enchantments before they took their last breaths, and he’d be free of their asinine, impudent natures. Unfortunately, with these proceedings, there’d be the inevitable mother wailing up and down the street, crying out for her lost loved ones and pointing her fingers at the murderer – and then he’d be forced to admit he killed simply because they annoyed him. A second alternative could be ignoring them – another preference of the cold, monstrous being. It was easy to become an indifferent, nonchalant piece of rock and rubble, a stony fixture in the back of the room, unseen, unheard, simply absorbing, acknowledging, and committing things to memory. It’d worked on several occasions throughout this kingdom, coasting along the wings of halls and bars with deadly, lethal silence; like a viper ready to strike, like a predator on the prowl. But as the eyes continued to watch him maneuver and motion, over a damned broom (and wasn’t he helping them in a way – since the glass was right where they could have tread?), it seemed an unlikely possibility. He was saved from any other decisions, standing there with the broom and glass shoved against the wall, by a loud, feminine shout; the obvious keeper of the triplets. He exhaled the smallest sigh of relief, because any other considerations were coming up vastly empty, and everyone was forced to retreat. Deimos’ piercing eyes roamed to hers, presuming now was an adequate time for an explanation over the fury of a tool. “I was using the broom to clean up some glass.” He nodded his head, indicating the particles and pieces clutched together; suddenly feeling very stupid that he even had to clarify his actions. He swallowed down the agitation, the vexation, and proceeded in his detached, distant manner; mulling over how to get away and escape the entire scene as quickly as possible. “Do you have anything to put it in?” master of nothing place of recoil and grace

Roana