DEIMOS
The open mockery was gone, extinguished (and likely never to return once she’d actually gained her sight back), but his features still softened, less reticence, less reserve, less and less and less of those hardened exteriors and more and more and more of the Sword’s layers peering through downed walls. Her choice of the Attuned notions caused his brows to lift slightly (he would’ve picked the mountains, but then again, he always had), before the eager grin found its way back to his mouth. “I have.” Party of four – if he was correct in their assignations: he, Remi, and Ashetta amongst the fold of blood entrenched in incantations and shifting prowess, Rexanna being the only one centered amidst the Voice and Abandoned. “I went to see Safrin.” At Amalia’s encouragement, after he’d fallen apart and flickered into so many damned pieces, a promise to try, with no expectation of success or triumph. “I asked for more strength, more power.” Something he’d savored in Helovia, the rush of prowess, the deadly spirals and coils curled amongst his veins, a persistent, poisonous vexation of peril and prestige; the world had known exactly who he was by title alone (the Reaper they whispered, the Reaper they screamed), the intimidating factions brought to life when he fostered death. Rexanna would’ve understood; his need, his craving, his desire to bring the world down to its knees when it was necessary, when bedlam was in his sights, when something needed to be demolished.
“She told me I had plenty within.” He paused, recalling, remembering those moments of derision, of defiance contorted in his frame, in his chest, at war with divine inspiration and pursuits. “Then gave me one chance before dropping me from the sky.” Thereafter there’d been ghosts, endless phantoms haunting over his eyes, as he fell and fell and fell, plummeting through the twilight, wraiths pulling, pulling, pulling, water and fire and rain screaming at him to fly. “I turned into an eagle.” A shrug, as if it were nothing when it’d been everything. “I can also shift into a tiger.” Another laugh, a chuckle made and immersed in warmth, in disbelief, gaze downcast.
“She told me I had plenty within.” He paused, recalling, remembering those moments of derision, of defiance contorted in his frame, in his chest, at war with divine inspiration and pursuits. “Then gave me one chance before dropping me from the sky.” Thereafter there’d been ghosts, endless phantoms haunting over his eyes, as he fell and fell and fell, plummeting through the twilight, wraiths pulling, pulling, pulling, water and fire and rain screaming at him to fly. “I turned into an eagle.” A shrug, as if it were nothing when it’d been everything. “I can also shift into a tiger.” Another laugh, a chuckle made and immersed in warmth, in disbelief, gaze downcast.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
