fair warning

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

“She would,” he answered at first, eyes lifting so he could watch Jigano come to the same conclusion. If it was one thing Deimos had learned at the open forum, it was that no matter what they had to say or do, it fell upon deaf ears. Zariah had her own intentions, her own constructions, her own machinations meandering along her mind, and to think they’d have some notion of appeal or an alteration in her schemes was ludicrous at best. And she didn’t care. She didn’t care about how many died in her streets. She didn’t care about how many of her citizens faced her down; based on Wessex’s stories alone, Zariah would likely do it herself. He pretended he didn’t use to be the same exact way – cold and brutal, calculating and detaching himself from everyone around him. The weapon they wanted for themselves, and abandoned when he wasn’t a necessity. The layers of ire and vexation seem to swarm around the field behind his house, a tempestuous trap lined with munitions and mercurial efforts, the perseverance lined across his brow fading into hostile breaths and acrimonious distortion. “Amalia would not tell me,” which caused a furrowing, stare fixated on leather instead of ghosting off into a myriad of possibilities, where Amalia was gone and he’d demolished the realm simply because it was all he had left to do. “She has saved herself before, but the stakes are higher now.” He clenched his jaw, stitching seams together when all he craved to do was unleash some sort of unbidden havoc – but it would’ve played into Zariah’s hands, and so he was stuck, wedged, and he battered, beat against the notion, the sentiments, with a polished, contorted loathing. “If we had gone with my plans, the manor would already be in flames.” He would’ve sung rebellion with his blade and launched whatever means necessary, likely dead and gone in the process, destroyed during the frenzy, accomplishing his goals for Amalia’s liberation, deliverance, freedom, and then naught more. Sacrificial but purposeful – far better than his previous death. “She does these things to save you,” his voice wasn’t quiet, but sharp, a reminder of sacrifices they all made to companions, to allies, to things forged long ago, before the rise of a Merciless regime. What do you for her in return? was silent, but contorted through his mind, an unrelenting being too. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate