chaele
worship like a dog
This is not the first day that Chaele has traversed the packed-snow paths to the Boondocks, to enjoy the festive energy from the safety of the treeline. Every time they do, they tie together a string effigy as they watch from afar; now, the forest is decorated with over a half-dozen of the little dreamcatcher dolls. But it is inevitable that Deimos catches their eye, like a bird between branches. And suddenly they find their feet drawing them close to the crowd.
Just as before, they have forgone their typical stag skull mask for the simple wooden circle crowned in holly and mint. It is less conspicuous, less cumbersome in the company of so many. Chaele hooks their unfinished talisman onto their wrist, holding it close as the noise of the festivities grows around them. Their steps grow shorter, their arms gaining an idle tension as they approach the queue with little regard for its priority.
“Deimos,” they greet, perhaps a little too loudly. It is rare they see someone they recognize in this place, much less someone who is supposed to be half way across the world. Their tongue twists in a shape that resembles an accusation, though the inquiry is honest enough. “What are you doing?”
Just as before, they have forgone their typical stag skull mask for the simple wooden circle crowned in holly and mint. It is less conspicuous, less cumbersome in the company of so many. Chaele hooks their unfinished talisman onto their wrist, holding it close as the noise of the festivities grows around them. Their steps grow shorter, their arms gaining an idle tension as they approach the queue with little regard for its priority.
“Deimos,” they greet, perhaps a little too loudly. It is rare they see someone they recognize in this place, much less someone who is supposed to be half way across the world. Their tongue twists in a shape that resembles an accusation, though the inquiry is honest enough. “What are you doing?”
at the shrine of my lies
