Hang hallowed halos

Deimos “I am always full of good ideas,” mocked and ridiculed his own modicums and methods, a self-deprecating measure because the world had already proven him a fool just in these last few seconds. Truthfully, there were a constant swarm of ideas, notions, calculations, and machinations maneuvering through his mind at any given moment; it was just down to which one he picked from the collection, and then rampaged along, some successful, some failing, some sputtering into nothing. This was the latter, a blip on the horizon, but he could find another way – he often had to, often did, often committed to the same plain and train of thought, but traversed along an opposing route, drawing his chains and tethers and lines alongside him. Deimos looked down in time to see her grin; no excuse for her endeavors, bored and mulling behind him instead of discovering other shards and shapes. He smiled, a warmer course of mouth and lips, before drawing his attention down the path, aiming to avoid an onslaught of will-o-wisps piercing and pulsing in the midnight horizon. “There are much better beings to follow,” he added; not false, not untrue, but pervading in their source of darkened humor, of worlds crossed and forlorn, of time passed when he’d been the one they stared upon, and he’d been the sword, the cutlass, the rapier, fighting for every single being within his land. He was naught now. She had known that since she’d encountered him all over again. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime