DEIMOS
They were settled, they were rooted, they were strong, and it was so easy to forget the notions after all the demons they’d faced. The burdens sometimes felt just as mighty, just as weighty, just as extreme and cumbersome, blades in the back, cutlasses in the chest, nooses tied, gnarled, and knotted around their necks. But it had always been her perseverance, her audacity, the spitfire reflections he’d admired, and they were merely dampened now, requiring air, oxygen, a spark, coals incited and incensed, kindled and set aflame. His chilling, barbaric intricacies took her woven coals and ignored the ashes, the soot, the dust, there to remind her who she really was, a small smile tucked along his lips, a soft sigh billowing and escaping from his lungs. The names and faces battering against his form chisel and sculpt, etch and sketch, detail the figments of another time, another place, mountains he yearned for, thrones he’d escaped, wars and barbarities that had sculpted him. “You do not need to forget them. They stay with you. They have shaped you.” All of them were buried in the chambers of his nefarious heart; their faces in his dreams or nightmares, bright against snowy outlines or twisted conditions. He had more beasts to fill the void: Mauja. D’art. Psyche. Huyana. Loth. Erebos. Ulrik. Blue upon blue upon blue, white upon white upon white; summits rising into the heavens, glaciers sprung between cataclysms and walls, the rise and fall of tempestuous beings and their descendants, the vitriol, the hate, the anarchy contorting upon their own masses because they were all too numb, too spiteful, too chaotic. He shook his head, left his hands on her shoulders, tossed her back and forth in his hold as if to shake her out of the doldrums, out of the catacombs, a chuckle on his tongue, but sagacity in his voice. “But we cannot forget the present either.”
Because that’s what he’d done – for a lifetime, sinking and sinking and sinking into the muck and mire of his own creation, forgetting how to live, how to dream, and waiting to die, to be with them again. There’d been no purpose. There’d been no motivation – merely disaster and ruin, the same annihilations and desecrations as before, as if he’d learned absolutely nothing from either life: doomed to repeat the same arcane refrains.
Until here. Until now.
His piercing depths glanced back to her, committing the wilderness, the untamed shards, into his memories. “You could.” His lips pressed together, brow furrowing, suggestions lingering in his hold. “You could fight alongside us.” And she must’ve known he didn’t mean the army, he didn’t mean that stupid parchment with their names splashed across it – but the sedition, the upheaval, the intonations lacquered between nuances and enlistments. He'd be protection, a shield, a guiding beacon of barbarity and revolution - a promise, a conviction, a vow he'd always been trying to keep.
Because that’s what he’d done – for a lifetime, sinking and sinking and sinking into the muck and mire of his own creation, forgetting how to live, how to dream, and waiting to die, to be with them again. There’d been no purpose. There’d been no motivation – merely disaster and ruin, the same annihilations and desecrations as before, as if he’d learned absolutely nothing from either life: doomed to repeat the same arcane refrains.
Until here. Until now.
His piercing depths glanced back to her, committing the wilderness, the untamed shards, into his memories. “You could.” His lips pressed together, brow furrowing, suggestions lingering in his hold. “You could fight alongside us.” And she must’ve known he didn’t mean the army, he didn’t mean that stupid parchment with their names splashed across it – but the sedition, the upheaval, the intonations lacquered between nuances and enlistments. He'd be protection, a shield, a guiding beacon of barbarity and revolution - a promise, a conviction, a vow he'd always been trying to keep.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
