DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
The relief was a palpable tangent, tangible connotations they hadn’t seen or felt for some time; his eyes riveting, back and forth, on banter and connections forged, grateful for smiles instead of sadness, instead of despondency, instead of the choking, ruthless clouds shirking on their horizons. Maybe one day the brightness would return to them: to the sun and the fire and the flames, and he could be eclipsed by it all over again.Except their desired effect of contentment, of glee, of excitement to prosper over Amalia’s form seemed to have missed the mark, and it befuddled, confused him, caused his head to tilt, his expression narrowed with bewilderment. Hadn’t they prospered her with gifts before? Was it ill-timing, ill-spoken because of the unknown grating and grasping? He couldn’t ascertain the reasoning, which was vexing on its own, grating over his mind, swarming it with Machiavellian calculations, attempting to figure out where they’d gone wrong again. Perhaps he simply couldn’t ascertain the fine lines, the details, the sketches, the notes, before he walked all over them, scattering their traces in his wake. Perhaps he was a fool. Perhaps he didn’t know anything at all; lost pieces and portions of these sentiments and ruminations pulsing somewhere between cloaking himself in shadow and isolating his soul from everyone and everything, overlooking the particulars, the obvious inclinations. So the monolith asked, gaze falling to Amalia, stalwart tendencies outweighing the befuddlement and perplexities. “Why not?” How many times had they told her she deserved it (and be there to do it again and again?)
The emotions warred on her features, striving to be light and easygoing again; he studied, he examined, he scrutinized on his advance. It wasn’t a rapacious stride, it wasn’t an unholy pace, merely crossing the floor to the baker, giving her time to evade or escape if she truly didn’t want their bestowals. At some point, his eyes rounded upon Kiada, indicating her requirement in presenting the gift too, unearthing the precious artifact from his pockets, palms extended for the Shield to survey. It fit neatly in his hands, scattered stars and moons etched in silver, draped on a loose, argent chain; and in the middle, a vial. Not one for jewelry, the Harpy would likely have to explain. In silence, the offer remained for him to put it on her, to dangle it along her nape; but the underlying acceptance would have to be there first.
In anticipation, and maybe some trepidation now, based on Amalia’s earlier insinuations, two rounded, curved ears, flanked in ivory, clearly feline, sprung along the top of his head. They settled there, seemingly innocent and innocuous, turning slightly, in between wild, savage locks and hair.
Unite and spread the heart apart
