DEIMOS
No; he rarely flinched from the notion of blood and loss, it’d spiraled around him so frequently that it was a numbing motion, a maneuver of lacerations and damnation all at once, didn’t bat an eye when it came plunging from wounds or when it crawled across grounds and soil. But from his years of experience in Helovia, he also understood the ramifications and consequences of it. Political and diplomatic games to play underneath the layers of ichor and sweat, between the roles of barbarian and Machiavellian stages; a world enamored with decisions, with choices, fleeting, twisted, and sometimes crumbling, shifting, the roles. How many times had they picked, nettled, and prodded, sinuous, agent provocateurs until they’d received what they wanted? How many times had it happened to them in return? How many hours had they spent revising strategies coated and enameled in vengeance? Here was another turn and embellishment of revolution, orchestrated by the Voice and her dominating attempts to alter the world in her benefit – and the notion of the mountains on the other side left it very tempting. Of course they would bite. Of course they would pledge. Of course they would leap into the fray for their goddess. Except there’d been other lives at stake; and the Fae already didn’t take them too kindly.
So it hadn’t gone well, all in all.
He hid the sigh building behind his teeth, smothering it in a shallower breath. “Why would she do that…” Zariah, aligning herself with the Voice? Was this some other power play? Some other grander thing they couldn’t see yet? Or had it just been another tyrannical interlude, seizing hold of any potential she had, leaving them behind to divest glory and triumph and barbarous needs with better, more formidable options – a mess on the other side when they dared to lift the veil? “More power,” he mused to himself, answering his own inquiry, shifting and yielding into another shrug the Penumbra couldn’t see. “The Fae will not take this well.” Maybe something that didn’t need to be said – a foregone conclusion.
So it hadn’t gone well, all in all.
He hid the sigh building behind his teeth, smothering it in a shallower breath. “Why would she do that…” Zariah, aligning herself with the Voice? Was this some other power play? Some other grander thing they couldn’t see yet? Or had it just been another tyrannical interlude, seizing hold of any potential she had, leaving them behind to divest glory and triumph and barbarous needs with better, more formidable options – a mess on the other side when they dared to lift the veil? “More power,” he mused to himself, answering his own inquiry, shifting and yielding into another shrug the Penumbra couldn’t see. “The Fae will not take this well.” Maybe something that didn’t need to be said – a foregone conclusion.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
