DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Leaning back into the water, inviting it to wash over his frame, his features, his mane, he threaded his fingers through his hair, allowed the lathered shampoo and suds to disappear. When he rose again, he shook his head like a dog, scattering droplets, laughing as they cascaded in different directions. It was repose once more, a calm, serene prosperity pervading and persisting through the room, his eyes flicking back to her as she followed the same actions. Why couldn’t things, events, circumstances, simply stay like this? Why couldn’t they remain in the tranquil abyss, instead of being pushed and shoved into chaos, into bedlam, into mayhem, the moment they stepped out of this threshold? A portion of him promised to show her everything, everything he possibly could, given the time, given the moments: the wondrous, powerful intervals of the ocean, with its endless, eternal prowess, the high rising peaks of the mountains, with its ice and rime, with its glaciers, with its beatific summits. The other pieces of his slate, of his vows, of his assurances, made certain to savor these spaces too, when the world didn’t toss its weight onto their shoulders.His hands released her, striving to find the cloth and soap he’d released earlier, amidst other distractions and motivations. Fumbling around, intentionally sliding his fingers down her calf for a miniscule taunt, he found the abandoned wares, and used them to wash the rest of his form, then rinsed, finally cleansed by the time she was finished. The fathoms of his eyes watched her, taking it all in, appreciating the small, minute instances, framing it for a memory, a picture, a canvas, a tapestry, when the peace and havens couldn’t be found. He hoped his expression mirrored hers, in the best way he could; darker, embedded blue portraying all the ardor and affection exuding, existing, in his infernal essence. “Civilized,” he tasted the word; allowed it to simmer against his tongue. “Not certain it suits me.” The beast snickered towards her, then rose from the basin, a tower, a monolith once more. The Reaper’s gaze settled on the amount of water outside the tub, a slight chuckle emitted, before he stepped carefully out of the container, and grabbing a nearby towel.
He dried himself off quickly, before wrapping to around his waist, and maneuvering back to Amalia; efficiently swathing her in the soft, dulcet material, and lifting her from the bath. With easy gentleness, light tenderness, he slid it around her shoulders, aimed to dry her off as well; amusing himself only when he tucked it over her head, her hair, like a hood. Then he managed to find a few more towels in the closets and cabinets, draping them along the floor (results of earlier antics).
Only thereafter did he raise his head, a smell, a fragrance, reaching his senses. “Is that the pie?”
Unite and spread the heart apart
