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

No information passed from Jigano’s lips, unordinary, but the exhaustion pulled and clambered, menacing and enticing in its own haggard regard. Why he wanted to go back into that poisonous stature was confusing and perplexing, but with naught to go off of, the Reaper couldn’t quantify any other response. The others seemed more imploring, yearning for him to stay after his statement had spiraled against better judgment; Deimos’ brows only lifted some degree, then furrowed back to their neutral stature. He was too tired to bother with Jigano’s maimed feelings, and ill-timed indignations. The notion of burying and burrowing himself into a hole seemed more enticing by the moment; he breathed, heavy and heady, as Amalia tucked herself back into him, as offers were made about sleeping, as everything arranged itself, just burdening on Jigano’s reply. Just makes things worse, Kiada’s response pulled through him; because he supposed his silence was making things more awkward, more tumultuous, but lord he didn’t care about going back into that Spire, not after everything had unfolded and happened and he almost watched things crumble and die all over again; loss and loss and loss a sweeping overture and tone. All he did now was think about sinking into the floor, falling asleep and apart there, beneath familiar walls instead of stone ones with venom lacquered inside. He proffered nothing – no encouragement, no rejection, too far gone to care. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate