Hurt so Good

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

The Sword quirked a brow and subsequently snorted at the picking up off the ground comment; alterations and changes, where Jigano would eventually stronger and stronger – it would simply take time and patience, fortitude and perseverance. This molded its way into curiosity though, because he’d yet to receive any origin story for the sudden inclusion of enchantments, invocations, that hadn’t been there before (because the beast presumed the bard would’ve utilized them far, far sooner). “How did you acquire magic?” Had he asked the gods, as Deimos had done for the attuned capabilities? An interesting conflagration for all them – twists and turns, alterations and speculations. More of the same following through, the antlers not conveying anything for healing on their own (and he swallowed down the bile, the notion, of that event – because it’d been her death), not until after Remi’s involvement. His brows furrowed on the thought, on how the alchemist could place healing properties into something without having them himself, but an inquiry to savor with Remi, since neither he or the Loreseeker would be able to answer for themselves. He nodded in agreement, tucking the notions away for another time. Which apparently inspired more Sage curiosities, realities Deimos had only truly embarked upon during LongNight, pressed and exasperated, desperate to do anything other than pace floors and wait for some inevitable disaster. A single object came to mind, orchestrated by means of which he had no true explanation – except strength and might in the swindling of time, in the turns of fate. “I doubt it.” Since Remi’s far out-scaled his own, miniscule and minute. “I did create a charm for Amalia that was magical though, during LongNight.” Protective, shielding, stalwart starlight flanking like a border, like a fringe; and he had no contortion over constellations or galaxies. So perhaps there was hope for him yet; another shrug waged, the uncertainty in all of it vexing. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate