Deimos
As the Reaper, he hadn’t always been so prone to forgiveness. It depended on the individual, on those who thorned and nettles, on which inhabitant scorned. Sometimes they were merely given abhorrence and hatred, a grudge, a petty, peevish, petulant rebuttal for all the notions and motions the other had sought to undermine. Others were granted ultimatums, ominous, foreboding warnings before he struck. Otherwise it might’ve been nonchalance and reticence, a vicious haze of detachment and apathy, indifferent to their suffering, to their wails, to their pleas; hard-hearted when disappointed, when another of his was beaten or mutilated, when misery was delivered in a vengeful root tenfold. But not for Kiada – his veracity implored and segmented, absolved, pardoned, and exonerated long ago; not in control of herself, compelled to violent hazes because of a disease, and not some other outlandish excuse (greed, avarice, or bold, indulgent ambitions). He’d been wounded, he’d been marred, but he’d recovered. The world could be far worse.
And they would face it all again.
He wouldn’t bow. He wouldn’t break. He wouldn’t bend. Neither would she. Neither would any of them.
They ended up huddled together along the hearth, Zuriel taking it upon herself to linger straight back into her prior position, eyeing the gifts in speculation and idle curiosity. Deimos, meanwhile, was covered in offerings and bestowals, a rarity, to be surrounded in presents rather than stares, hisses, or some other ill effect. He breathed in as his heart felt strangely, oddly full, hands stretching back into the bag at the luxere’s tail wag and insistence. Stifling another laugh, and therefore ensuring it was a smile, a grin, his fingers clutched some metallic surface, and bringing them out of the sack, revealed a small bell. “Where did you get this?” He murmured with a laugh, shaking the object to reveal its singsong sound. Like a game, each surprise truly defied his expectations, and soon he had more to his pile, including a beautiful rock (he could see why Auni was enticed by it), and an assortment of feathers. “Nicely done,” proffered back to the luxere, and another healthy dose of head scratches.
His eyes flicked back over to Kiada for a moment, the smile fading as he calculated and pondered. “Zuriel can heal you,” his glance segmenting on scars, on the thoughts of thorns embedded, “if you need it.” The unicorn raised her head, somewhat proud and smug, waiting for agreement to the task or nothing at all. To hear the Harpy had been learning from Amalia’s techniques wasn’t a surprise, and then capable of putting her own spin on the desserts. His smile rekindled, much too content despite everything going on around them, hanging onto the notions for as long as he could. “Yes, that is what matters.” That they tried. He would rather fall apart into a thousand deaths during actions and maneuvers, than ever flicker into nothing on the sidelines. Taking a break from the revelations contained within the bag, the Sword broke apart a small piece of a bear claw, placing it in his mouth, chewing reflectively. Once he’d swallowed, satisfied, the warrior announced his review. “Delicious.”
And they would face it all again.
He wouldn’t bow. He wouldn’t break. He wouldn’t bend. Neither would she. Neither would any of them.
They ended up huddled together along the hearth, Zuriel taking it upon herself to linger straight back into her prior position, eyeing the gifts in speculation and idle curiosity. Deimos, meanwhile, was covered in offerings and bestowals, a rarity, to be surrounded in presents rather than stares, hisses, or some other ill effect. He breathed in as his heart felt strangely, oddly full, hands stretching back into the bag at the luxere’s tail wag and insistence. Stifling another laugh, and therefore ensuring it was a smile, a grin, his fingers clutched some metallic surface, and bringing them out of the sack, revealed a small bell. “Where did you get this?” He murmured with a laugh, shaking the object to reveal its singsong sound. Like a game, each surprise truly defied his expectations, and soon he had more to his pile, including a beautiful rock (he could see why Auni was enticed by it), and an assortment of feathers. “Nicely done,” proffered back to the luxere, and another healthy dose of head scratches.
His eyes flicked back over to Kiada for a moment, the smile fading as he calculated and pondered. “Zuriel can heal you,” his glance segmenting on scars, on the thoughts of thorns embedded, “if you need it.” The unicorn raised her head, somewhat proud and smug, waiting for agreement to the task or nothing at all. To hear the Harpy had been learning from Amalia’s techniques wasn’t a surprise, and then capable of putting her own spin on the desserts. His smile rekindled, much too content despite everything going on around them, hanging onto the notions for as long as he could. “Yes, that is what matters.” That they tried. He would rather fall apart into a thousand deaths during actions and maneuvers, than ever flicker into nothing on the sidelines. Taking a break from the revelations contained within the bag, the Sword broke apart a small piece of a bear claw, placing it in his mouth, chewing reflectively. Once he’d swallowed, satisfied, the warrior announced his review. “Delicious.”
i rule the stars, not the other way around
