shield for a heart,
and a sword for a tongue
Deimos’ jaw clenches, and she has half a mind to reach up and study the bone beneath the bearded skin, to touch and tell him with her trembling hands that she’ll be okay – but she doesn’t even know herself how deep it goes. It feels everywhere, it feels like it clings to her soul and is dragging her down, down, down. He listens to Amalia, and her own head tilts toward her mother figure – despite being older, Amalia aside from being Safrin’s Shield, is her shield too.
Deimos, aside from being the Resurrected Sword, is her sword too.
And suddenly, she feels as though she wants to cry – a feeling she doesn’t give into much. And she withdraws, pulling her legs up before Amalia’s hand meets it and pauses her in the action, icy hollowed eyes lifting to look to the Shield, nodding to her suggestion, though she isn’t hungry. She feels as though she should wither away into nothing. To keep them from worrying, perhaps mourning was better.
She knows it isn’t.
Because she feels it every day, too. Side by side with the pain of the sickness, the frustration of her trembling hands that can’t throw a knife in a straight trajectory, the rages that plague her, and the tears that find her late at night.
Still, Amalia drags her out of it, the light in her darkness, the better edge to her sharpened knife. It is near a demand, and she doesn’t wish to fail in yet another quest. Her gaze drifts toward Deimos with a light shrug, showing that somewhere she’s in there, and she lowers her knees and legs again to let her feet meet the ground, shedding the blanket to reveal the short near tank top shirt she wears – Melita’s wound on her shoulder black edged but scabbed – the burn marks along her spine and the back of her neck in full view, as well as the deep dimples of the scars from where her armor in the Rift had punctured and been attached to said spine.
She moves toward Amalia, hearing the words through their bond, reaching the Leopardess with a trembling hand and letting her take her to the Kitchen. “I love you Ama.” She tells her quietly, through their bond, before she turns her head just enough to look at Deimos and include him too, because maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to say it again. And she wants him to know how much he means to her, too. “I love you Deimos.” She says quietly before she follows Amalia to help.
Deimos, aside from being the Resurrected Sword, is her sword too.
And suddenly, she feels as though she wants to cry – a feeling she doesn’t give into much. And she withdraws, pulling her legs up before Amalia’s hand meets it and pauses her in the action, icy hollowed eyes lifting to look to the Shield, nodding to her suggestion, though she isn’t hungry. She feels as though she should wither away into nothing. To keep them from worrying, perhaps mourning was better.
She knows it isn’t.
Because she feels it every day, too. Side by side with the pain of the sickness, the frustration of her trembling hands that can’t throw a knife in a straight trajectory, the rages that plague her, and the tears that find her late at night.
Still, Amalia drags her out of it, the light in her darkness, the better edge to her sharpened knife. It is near a demand, and she doesn’t wish to fail in yet another quest. Her gaze drifts toward Deimos with a light shrug, showing that somewhere she’s in there, and she lowers her knees and legs again to let her feet meet the ground, shedding the blanket to reveal the short near tank top shirt she wears – Melita’s wound on her shoulder black edged but scabbed – the burn marks along her spine and the back of her neck in full view, as well as the deep dimples of the scars from where her armor in the Rift had punctured and been attached to said spine.
She moves toward Amalia, hearing the words through their bond, reaching the Leopardess with a trembling hand and letting her take her to the Kitchen. “I love you Ama.” She tells her quietly, through their bond, before she turns her head just enough to look at Deimos and include him too, because maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to say it again. And she wants him to know how much he means to her, too. “I love you Deimos.” She says quietly before she follows Amalia to help.
KIADA
No permission needed for power play!
Feel free to use magic/force on Kiada, without killing her <3
