you aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
Maybe on principle, or mere second-hand knowledge, he had no great love for the Voice and the diabolical schemes behind her ministrations. While she’d clearly done a great deal for Rexanna, for Wessex, the beast had never held any inclination of becoming bright (dark and twisted maybe, but not altered and arranged without senses, without pain, without remorse). The only reason he’d be willing to go at all was to gather some insight, more intelligence, behind the notions of the blight. Was it to wipe out the majority of the inhabitants here, to gather her beloved followers beneath her gaze, to ensure they were superior, when push came to shove and the rest of them had been wiped out on monstrous emblems? It was a dastardly wake, a Machiavellian, calculating, coldblooded quality Deimos had only seen in Helovia, by masterminds of other bludgeoning gods, and the notion sent a reel of consternation in his ribs. It might be worth a shot lingered, and he was half-inclined to be his realistic, pessimistic self and say might not be, but left it silent, hovering, harpooning there in the stretch of midnight banners. Pleasantly surprised was also incredibly unlikely – only until recently had his hollowed entity been pleasantly surprised by any orchestrations by celestial beings. “Perhaps,” was all he managed to muster, rising back and away from the flower he’d planted, gaze still on it, one last guardian interval. A bitter sigh swept through him; mostly because of what was going on around them, the sentiments of malignant, wrapping qualities, and the lengths they would all have to go to even try and surmise an explanation. “When you are ready then,” he proffered, not looking, not seeing the traces of her smile, too hindered, too obliged to believe in the worst crawling through the surface.
but you're terrified of
letting anyone in
letting anyone in
DEIMOS
