DEIMOS
Deimos was not a frequenter of puppet shows – in fact, he might not have ever participated or been entertained by one. Festivals and fits of happiness, contentment, even amidst the doldrums and hanging threads, ghosts, of the Festival of Lights were not reciprocated in either Helovia or Isilme; they’d attempted entertainment purposes in the name of the God of Time once or twice. Deimos had been relegated to guard duty and brooding from the sidelines while dances, serenades, and any other spectral amusements had been conducted.But he would come to appreciate Amalia and her friends’ efforts, despite the glaring ignorance spiraling from his depths.
The beast breezed by the snacks and grabbed a few out of habit; eyes glancing over the setup, the stage, the scene, the set design implemented in woodland forms, boughs and canopies, starring a deity. He ensured his gaze managed to land on Amalia too, a proud grin tucked on his features and a wink in her direction.
He spotted a few more audience members circling around, but out of support, intended to take one of the front-lined blankets, sitting and settling himself close to Remi and Aoife. Then he leaned back, intending to be entertained and diverted by whatever story unfolded – reflections of Fiat Lux more of a simmering notion, something they all must’ve craved since the burden of everything else unfolded over them.
You aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
but you're terrified of letting anyone in
