you aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
The Ascended: cultivators of the blight spread. There it was, simplistic in its form, in the ease of transgressions, one entire species of this human race curled and coiled to its machinations. The Voice must’ve been the perpetrator; and the unease in which they all seemed to maneuver around Wessex, along Rexanna, within meetings now made sense. He didn’t segment blame upon her though, had notions of individuality within the granules of lumped persons – had she had time to traverse into the regions? So newly Ascended? Doubtful – but there were enough of the others to have committed the deed, ignorant or compliant. Did it matter now anyways, when it was already a foregone conclusion, sputtering in the veins of those they loved? But she was right. People would gathering their pitchforks, their flames, their knives, their accusations – it had already occurred once before, their rioting arms and alms on the press of the Spire, when warriors had gone to destroy the Demon, when Ronin had lost his life, when they’d all paid witness to destruction and mayhem, then reaped it upon themselves. He would defend her, regardless of the outcome - it was what he did, it was how he lived. “Of course.” He agreed to that sentiment, because it was another inevitable swing of their lives. Blame was easy, a thing to toss upon shoulders, shout out, but didn’t decipher anything.
Look what had happened to Jigano – their vitriol and vehemence enough for him to seethe back.
His palms continued digging, using fingers instead of tools, yearning to keep his hands busy. “We just have to solve it,” he grumbled, hanging his head in the accord of the evening, bundling the rose carefully into its sanctified hole, pushing dirt and soil into its threshold. Her apologies weren’t necessary, not now, not when there so many other things unraveling around them. He didn’t have the answers, the machinations, or the calculations to preside in its mire: he’d tried, he’d failed, and he didn’t know where else to go or venture, merely following Vi’s path now, intertwining gilded roses into the ground, pondering when winter would take its hold on them.
Look what had happened to Jigano – their vitriol and vehemence enough for him to seethe back.
His palms continued digging, using fingers instead of tools, yearning to keep his hands busy. “We just have to solve it,” he grumbled, hanging his head in the accord of the evening, bundling the rose carefully into its sanctified hole, pushing dirt and soil into its threshold. Her apologies weren’t necessary, not now, not when there so many other things unraveling around them. He didn’t have the answers, the machinations, or the calculations to preside in its mire: he’d tried, he’d failed, and he didn’t know where else to go or venture, merely following Vi’s path now, intertwining gilded roses into the ground, pondering when winter would take its hold on them.
but you're terrified of
letting anyone in
letting anyone in
DEIMOS
