wash away our sore eyed souls

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 drifted amidst the parallels and sagacity, calm and content for the moment, and his breathing comes easier, without the smoke, without the fumes, without the grating edges of death looming between. Their reactions seemed blissful – the unicorn’s own satisfaction curled along his mind, helped diffuse the fringes, until some strange serenity seemed to pass over him and he was simply there, existing without the atrocities, without the animosity, without the acrimony clinging to his soul. His hands wiped over the staff, still red but slightly stained with his blood, aiming to remove the ichor, but then, looking down and realizing his clothes were still marred with the same indiscretions and predilections; he hadn’t changed, still wearing the portions of armor that had made it through the venomous void. He cleaned it as best he could with a small portion of unmarred fabric, and went to hand it back to her, a thank you on his lips, but she was enamored with his companion, so he simply watched – tranquil, eyelids threatening to descend, close; guards and walls completely down, lost in the fold of amiability. While there was starlight from the whale, Zuriel exuded the forest, the shadows of its dusk and the plains of its strength, dipping her head to touch her horn to a fin, a show of good faith and allegiance, matching formations from individual to individual, from love to love, from affection to affection. Amalia maneuvered back into him, his arm intertwined over her shoulders, and a small smile traced over his mouth. “Her name was her own. I do not know the meaning.” But he could feel something snap over his mind, and his gaze flickered back over to her – power and conviction, boulders and stones, fell over his membrane. “Strength, a rock of faith, she says,” and his brow arched over to the equine but she’s already raised her head again, stare lingering on other things. The mare liked Jyo too, best represented in her warm nickers, and then naught more – an almost, teasing, imploring facet stuck to her face. Even amongst the tremors of a gentler stead, of a few moments not weighted in gallows or haunting, poignant spaces, it managed to be scattered away in the blink of an eye. As Zuriel stood, eyes sharp and piercing; his own penetrating depths meandered back to Jigano, the keen outset of a mind already warped and tired, fatigued and exhausted, hearing condemnation in the slip of responses, in the foregoing tide of having to return. Kiada reacted, Amalia reacted, but he was close enough to hold her in place – suddenly aching to lunge; his body a statue, a monolith, a Colossus, keeping her away from the bard’s declarations. All he could scrape together was the overwhelmed, burdensome melancholy settling back down upon him again, letting the feral moments scatter by him, bone-tired and drained. “Why?” For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate