DEIMOS
He wasn’t surprised by the choking, smothering silence, the cooling plumes of defeat billowing past his ears and over Amalia’s refrains. It was normal: an interplay of nothingness, the lack of worth, the hatred, the vitriol, sputtered upon those who contained and harbored enchantments. There was always a steady reminder that they were naught: a speck of dust, a gust of wind, signifying nothing in the grand schemes, no matter how much they pushed, tore, and growled. The beast had simply come to expect and accept a lack of guidance or care upon those who lingered in the same parallels as he; but his eyes lingered on the baker, on the appealing whispers, on the desperation cloaked in her voice. He suddenly wished he wasn’t there at all, a disappointment, likely the root cause of her failure, should’ve been backing away, away, away, should’ve never arrived at her side, should’ve been something better –
He didn’t move; Kiada’s entrance was on soft footfalls, there in an instant, likely having followed them from the ridiculous antics of their latest notice board gathering. He heard her inquiry but couldn’t give anything in return: he’d never seen them, he’d never been approved by them. The only response he’d ever received was scorn or detachment, and he swallowed down any response he had chiseled. It tasted rancorous and bitter, but for whom, for what, he couldn’t say. Perhaps it was a combination of things, the echoes of the past rising and snaking down in his soul, chiseling and sculpting and carving away what little faith he’d ever had: placing it more in himself again – and even that had its limitations. The Reaper wished he had that ability, to put hope, trust, and worth into celestial beings and divinities, a sweeping acceptance and reverence, instead of constant resistance. But that wasn’t who he was or experienced.
He met both of their gazes and inhaled, chest heaving on the rise of confidence and optimism. At the very least, he could implement and whittle his convictions into future actions; with no assistance, no reeling, no hand-wringing from gods, from the cosmos. He offered very little except a small, minute smile, eager and ready to abandon the rituals and relics, just as they’d done to him. “Then we should get to work.”
He didn’t move; Kiada’s entrance was on soft footfalls, there in an instant, likely having followed them from the ridiculous antics of their latest notice board gathering. He heard her inquiry but couldn’t give anything in return: he’d never seen them, he’d never been approved by them. The only response he’d ever received was scorn or detachment, and he swallowed down any response he had chiseled. It tasted rancorous and bitter, but for whom, for what, he couldn’t say. Perhaps it was a combination of things, the echoes of the past rising and snaking down in his soul, chiseling and sculpting and carving away what little faith he’d ever had: placing it more in himself again – and even that had its limitations. The Reaper wished he had that ability, to put hope, trust, and worth into celestial beings and divinities, a sweeping acceptance and reverence, instead of constant resistance. But that wasn’t who he was or experienced.
He met both of their gazes and inhaled, chest heaving on the rise of confidence and optimism. At the very least, he could implement and whittle his convictions into future actions; with no assistance, no reeling, no hand-wringing from gods, from the cosmos. He offered very little except a small, minute smile, eager and ready to abandon the rituals and relics, just as they’d done to him. “Then we should get to work.”
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
