[seasonal event] fell to the top

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

They eventually ceased outside the Bodega, out of sight, out of mind, from the villagers and their incriminating stares; Deimos paid them little mind, stare lingering on the outskirts, watching, waiting, for something to conspire and wind itself around canopies, for aforementioned monsters to poke their heads from trunks, for trickery and deceit to mire its way into their minds. When naught appeared to occur, he settled again, but his gaze remained on the bones of the forest, a predator’s inclination, a dead sovereign’s apprehension, a soldier’s astute, careful scrutiny. Jigano persisted too though – “Yes,” he responded at first. He didn’t know the background behind Auni’s appearance, hadn’t asked, and Kiada had never relented the story. Maybe there was something lingering beneath it, unsettling and caustic, and she hadn’t yearned to relive it; and the demon was not one to pry, not unless he required information for warfare, for duplicity, for an upcoming tempest. He rather enjoyed the little luminary deer, with its penchant for racing up to him and begging for scratches, when the rest of its kind had always gone in the opposite direction. Auni was without judgment, indifferent towards the denizens of rue, regret, and scorn sizzling over the Reaper’s figure, paying no mind to the death lurking in his enchantments and invocations – a breath of fresh air when the rest of the world seemed haunted, dismal, and overwhelming. The bard inquired further, and the stretch of his shoulders expanded again, a sigh whittling its way through his ribs and chest, heart and lungs, bones and memories. Just how far would he have to go to answer the inquiry – because there’d been no way they could’ve come together, when he was dead and gone, buried in rock and rubble, then dissolved into shadow with the rest of Helovia, his tomb vanquished and vanished, his mantle, his throne, his cloak and daggers and crown dismantled; then restored, born again to fire and water, following the same bloodied pathways because he never learned, because he was inept and ineffectual, because he beat the war drums and swung his sword into anything that tempted or enticed. “No,” he shook his head, lowered his basket to the ground as he chose a nearby stump to sit upon, spine taut and rigid once more, gaze lingering on the soil, on the earth, on the sprigs of moss sinking beneath his feet. “We were separated.” It was the easiest explanation: by time, by demise, by Rexanna’s pull towards another kingdom and sovereign. “But she was always bold, an audacious thing to behold.” He laughed, small and barking, might’ve been wholly insignificant if the memories of the child doing far more than many of her elders hadn’t pulsed its way into his mind. She’d been fire amidst the ice, rime, and chill, a welcome accompaniment to the cluster of cold, glacial expanses. Then she’d been gone – before him – cast into a world of glass, mist, and cliff edges, and he’d taken his final breaths beneath the rain. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate