DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
The Basin had never been perfect. They’d had their own brutalizing personalities, their wagging tongues, their political strife, and some of their more ridiculous means and measures amidst comrades – but it’d been home. The mountains had been rising forces and an assemblage to the stars, cast aside by the constellations and galaxies so their mighty predilections could see the strength and beauty behind their eyes. The cold had been its own glacial tenacity, ensuring no one weak, no one foolish, could survive its regions; and the basking ways in which they all seemed to combine themselves into one prickly, disastrous unit. They’d been enduring. They’d been persevering. They’d been towers. They’d been amidst the stories and legends, the myths unfolding from the peaks’ creations. They’d been devastated and torn apart, destined to rise and fall, the same as any world, but it’d been theirs, theirs, theirs, and then it wasn’t anymore. He listened in the hushed throng, as the spells cast couldn’t override the fault lines, the tenors, the bludgeoning wounds of the past. But he caught her quiet intonations, the way swords and daggers had been side-by-side with cloaks and secrets, the way they’d formed collected units of strife, strength, and power; prowess in the dark. “No, we cannot. But we can learn from them.” He nodded in accord, in agreement, not lifting his brows to any particular haunting spiels; Rexanna’s departure had gaped at his nefarious heart and tugged it wide-open, flayed and left in his rime, in his snow, with nothing but the silence drifting, scourging, maiming. It wasn’t the same now. She’d promised.Their discussion of magic brought him back to the fold: her fireworks still at play here, even across numerous portals, histories, and realms, proffering a soft smirk at the notion – the way death notes had followed him, eternally a Reaper, no matter the story. “Interesting,” he noted, brows furrowing slightly. “I had the same feeling when I first started creating, then it seemed to strengthen in time. Maybe the more you use it?” The inquisition would likely go unanswered; a way for him to muse out loud over the paradoxes and enigmas of this sovereign from the last. Deimos watched as she spread her hands again, the fiery glow warm in the ducts and drapery of shadow, and then ornamentation came to life: a brooch, but instead of just perfected jewels and opulence, he saw a peek of mountains and auroras, shifting, blending hues, streaks of the horizon combatting all of their raw anger and vitriol – beauty in the finest of breakdowns and catastrophes, calamities brooding in their abhorrence; but never at those sights. He sighed.
Unite and spread the heart apart
