northern downpour sends its love

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame So there it was. Silence – overbearing, overwhelming, telling silence. They weren’t coming. Either he, because the beast didn’t place any blame on her, had caused the inexorable outcome, or it was just the way things were, would always be. But he didn’t give her an ‘I told you so’ glance or smug response, even as she admitted it. He didn’t want them to fail. It was just how the world worked on those who’d long since been abandoned; he’d learned far, far earlier. They’d have to make their own fates again – ignoring those sketches and outlines that consecrated notations of their lifelines and movements, their maneuvers and etches. He’d veer straight off the path to prove them all wrong. Watch me, he almost dared, he almost voiced. Instead, it was the stoic, indifferent contortion settling over his nonchalant features. He’d resolved himself already; the apprehension gone, the truth solidified before them. Nothing. You are not worth our time. “Yes.” He acknowledged her statement with a nod, a brisk turn, an opportunity to flee and leave and get the hell out of there. There had to be something else. The Gods couldn’t have everything in their grasp. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace