DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
The words and phrases flickering thereafter gave him the greatest pause; enough to mull over in the breadth of his overbearing silence. The wind billowed and crept and didn’t curl into his furs, but ruffled against and upon, and battered at nothing. Diction he hadn’t heard, or perhaps hadn’t been ready to chisel against the frame of his mind, hadn’t said, hadn’t proclaimed, anywhere amid his heart and soul. She put it bluntly, as one might a weapon, away from the multitudes of anguish he’d drowned in years and seasons ago – where he’d been scalded, maimed, made to believe he was worthless, meaningless, devoid of love. The Sword had healed somewhere in the midst of all that grief and sorrow, but as always, there was more to be done. So all he could rumble thereafter was a quiet fixture too, gaze pinpointed on snow and ice. “We all deserved better.” And left it at that.
No sinking, no dwelling, no wondering, no ruining; no more – there was too much else to be done.
His head tilted, listening all the while, as she described her plans. He nearly snorted at the insinuation of the Magic School, and Zariah, who’d left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth. Making no mention of how he’d wished to burn the entire thing to the ground, the piercing slate of his gaze finally landed somewhere along her shoulder. “It unfortunately carries her stigma with it. But perhaps it is something you could ask Noah and Cordelia about.” If they granted permission for it to reopen – maybe after the war.
The rest of the schemes and goals were feasible though, and Deimos found himself nodding along, content with discussing calculations rather than the multitudes of emotions he left behind. “We will always need healers,” and one of his hands went to Zuriel, patting her on the neck as they wound their way along paths. “Remind me to show you the greenhouse too.”
No sinking, no dwelling, no wondering, no ruining; no more – there was too much else to be done.
His head tilted, listening all the while, as she described her plans. He nearly snorted at the insinuation of the Magic School, and Zariah, who’d left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth. Making no mention of how he’d wished to burn the entire thing to the ground, the piercing slate of his gaze finally landed somewhere along her shoulder. “It unfortunately carries her stigma with it. But perhaps it is something you could ask Noah and Cordelia about.” If they granted permission for it to reopen – maybe after the war.
The rest of the schemes and goals were feasible though, and Deimos found himself nodding along, content with discussing calculations rather than the multitudes of emotions he left behind. “We will always need healers,” and one of his hands went to Zuriel, patting her on the neck as they wound their way along paths. “Remind me to show you the greenhouse too.”
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
