[seasonal event] arise from the dust

Deimos The lines of the Basin, the strength, the accord, the malice, the menace, rooted into their bones was hard to escape – except he had no intention of ever evading their tactics and ruses. They’d been an aligned force towards the end of his life amongst the pillars of snow and ice; rooting and demolishing, extending their ramparts, barricades, and devious, manipulative means into kingdoms and worlds. It was sedition and revolution and beautiful, glorious disaster; exactly what he’d wanted to do and orchestrate when Zariah’s threshold and measures became too great, too overbearing, too much for their rebellious glory. But with Halo – who knew what would be around the corner, along the summits, and within intervals of winter’s vestiges. Crowns of thorns instead of flowers – he rolled his eyes in her direction, a goading, inciteful display again, as if to tease and taunt is that all you have? curled in their piercing formation. There was a snort imbedded in there too, amongst the other preambles and perhaps an inclination over their worth. “What did I do to deserve that?” A light shrug, but a further molding of some other insinuations; if there was more than just provocations in the toothy grin, if there were failures existing he was unaware of, hadn’t understood, hadn’t seen, hadn’t strived to do enough, lingering in between throes and throngs and entirely too many LongNight debacles. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime