DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
Rexanna had far more of an affinity with people than he’d ever attempt to gain. Perhaps that had been his greatest flaw and defect, the inability to foster connections beyond a few, choosing to leave himself in the apathetic gazes, in the traces of foundational nonchalance, in the sequence of battles, bloodied and beaten and barbaric. The world had been intimidated by him and he’d craved it, their shudders, their quakes, their crushed, trembling dominions, but it also meant he was left to dwindle and decay on his lonesome, beneath the crushing weight of crowns and horizons, under the belligerent echo of all their misdeeds, iniquities, and defeats. They’d been hollowed whispers and hushed shells, a maneuvering vessel with sentiments too far gone to ever pursue – he didn’t know what he was now, could only trace some idle, familiar filaments, constantly skimming over terrain and land and moments so unfamiliar. He kept it all to himself still, in the end, not voicing those motions, not giving credence to their rising clamor, not outlining the possibilities of every other damaging enigma hovering along shadows and thralls. The ignorant wake of the undisclosed could cause every bit of tension all over again, as it’d done for Wessex, as it’d done for Ronin, as it’d done for Zariah, as it’d done for any other diplomatic figurehead. Yes, she could listen – and he’d once done the same, burying all the other predilections in the back of his mind, to tilt his head at the voices shrieking, bellowing, and crying out their disregard, their hatred, their vehemence, or anything else along those lines. Surviving the Basin only prepared them for this hearth and heart. “Everything else will come with time and experience.” The slightest quirk of a smile before it dimmed entirely – gaze casting off elsewhere, along artistic lines and venues, paintings and tapestries, canvases that told multitudes of stories, and to continue along with other, unforeseen sagas. “Let me know if you need anything,” he added, not sure what else to give or grant, but willing just the same.
