wild and bereft

DEIMOS MASTER OF NOTHING PLACE Deimos listened. It was a skill he’d long acquired when he’d spun himself back into silence and hushed overtures – it gave him plenty of opportunity to plot and scheme, to calculate, to dive into machinations and ruses, where to twist and foil the enemy, where to lay out snares and traps, where to snag, snarl, and irritate until the time was right to assault. Except here, here, he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t familiar with anything except the seasons already come to pass, the burdens and hell of Long Night, the border not allowing them any further than the reaches of Spires and demons. One of those was gone - and a part of him, that brazen, bold, irreverent slate, would have liked nothing better than to go stomp against the towers and watch them fall. His nature was to savage, maim, rip, and tear apart, but latter days had schooled him in coldblooded ruminations and wiles; the heart of the waiting game, a modicum of patience behind ferocity and fury. Deimos would’ve welcomed another meeting, a way to discuss rather than scream, howl, and roar, but the notions had vanished in the blink of an eye, as an angry mob rose to challenge another, and any thought of measured motions and movements had decayed. The rush had been so rampant, so acidic, so ridiculous, an echo of wrath and contempt rather than reason and motivations. Ronin’s death had done naught but seal the further division between those who’d lived here all their lives, and those who’d had no choice. “But it is too late.” Here he nodded, agreeing with her sentiments; the opportunities were gone and exploited, foolish and devoured, consumed in the seething lungs, in the maniacal tirades. He contemplated his next set of words, placing another log on the pile, and sighing against it – wondering just how far all of these shambles and ruins would go; who would suffer in the end, who would pay the price again, who would fall apart in the grand scheme of things? “Part of the problem is we are unfamiliar with their ways. Some want out. Some want to stay. Which is the better option?” Did they even have a way to answer this? Did it matter? Weren’t they all going to commit to what they craved and yearned for anyway? He’d tried to ask, he’d breathed, he’d inhaled, he’d attempted to spin calm, unattached, indifferent reticence and inquiries into the fold, but they’d been scattered aside, dust and embers and ash in the bleak, asinine madness. “Perhaps the better question is what do we want to do?” The Reaper’s piercing eyes glanced into hers; he’d already firmly committed to her as an ally and friend, and maybe they simply needed to discover the next step for their success – because no one else was going to do it for them. OF RECOIL AND GRACE

Rexanna <3