remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
Before Caido, anything resembling content, happiness, had been miniscule, minute, and in small, meager doses. Too many crimes, too many rebellions, too many cuts of seditious emblems and banners to strive for anything more; satisfaction in annihilation, in brutality, in vengeance, in rebuttal. Plagues of aftermath, of lethality, of gestures rampant and emboldened, proof of their primordial, treacherous accord – these were the only things that mattered, that signified, that consumed. So to ever glance upon Amalia and wonder how the hell he’d gotten here was a sure sign of confusion and upheaval, undeserving, unworthy, factions he’d never quite understand or fathom. But he took them too, love, adoration, and devotion, and instilled it in his own refrains. He was careful here though, watching Rexanna with a scale of amusement and reserve, the fields no longer the favored topic; he’d dug himself a hole then and there. She would likely try and pry whatever she could, knew him too well to cease at just the regular question and answer session, that he’d eventually lock up and expose or divulge naught at all. Plans. He’d gotten somewhere with them. Something like discomfort crept its way into his skin, into his flesh, under prying eyes and footholds. Were it anyone else he might not have even allowed himself the notion, the emotion; shutting down immediately, walls drawn, ramparts blistering and scathing. “Already made the rings, but I asked Safrin to bless hers. Amalia gave me one too.” Lifting his hand for the briefest of inspections, brow arched and waiting again, before sliding it back down. “No big ceremony.” Neither of them would want it anyway; no need for massive crowds, for ogling or requiring attention. Otherwise, they were waiting – for healing, for legs to be used again, for things to maneuver along, away from constant sieges and tragedies (
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
