Unlike them, don't walk away from my fear
I've busted bones, broken stones
Even if claws tore into his skin, it would’ve mattered little. What was one more scar in a sea of them, scattered white lines and their stories of keen blades serrating, of missed moments, of days where he continued to persist, to persevere, to endure? Much like theirs now, constantly maneuvering forward despite the sinking, tremulous feelings, the clutching of claws, the rampaging decibels careening around their heads. For instances like these, when they had no other options or alternatives (because he would not sink; a refusal to bend and break and shatter). By now she must have figured out he’d do anything for her.
A hold on his mane, along shoulders, agreements finalized – and he inhaled one massive breath, a warning to Amalia of his intentions, before extending his arms, motioning forward, legs pushing off, before they dove below the surface. The water surrounded, and he was at peace for the first time in what felt like centuries, pervaded, contorted, amongst the ripples and boundaries. Each muscle undulated, poised for the motions, the crystal jar in his hand not a bother or a hindrance, basking for as long as he could beneath the veneer, before rising once more. They broke over the surface and he was content, a maneuvering wake of precision and prowess, accustomed to the power of water, the wake of its derision, the tranquility of its surroundings.
Before long though, they’d reached the destination – in the middle of the pool, amongst pale plumes and rivulets from the lunar glow, a radiant abyss caused by the hanging moon. The beast motioned until they were in the middle of it, surrounded by ivory haze and hues, by flickers of resplendence and serenity. Treading water, legs ensuring they managed to stay upright, he drew the jar before him, removing the lid, and then inquired, breaking the silence. “Do you want to do the honors?” Deimos raised the crystal-ware to her otter claws, pondering if she wished to capture the light, the water, in control of her own destiny and fortune.
A hold on his mane, along shoulders, agreements finalized – and he inhaled one massive breath, a warning to Amalia of his intentions, before extending his arms, motioning forward, legs pushing off, before they dove below the surface. The water surrounded, and he was at peace for the first time in what felt like centuries, pervaded, contorted, amongst the ripples and boundaries. Each muscle undulated, poised for the motions, the crystal jar in his hand not a bother or a hindrance, basking for as long as he could beneath the veneer, before rising once more. They broke over the surface and he was content, a maneuvering wake of precision and prowess, accustomed to the power of water, the wake of its derision, the tranquility of its surroundings.
Before long though, they’d reached the destination – in the middle of the pool, amongst pale plumes and rivulets from the lunar glow, a radiant abyss caused by the hanging moon. The beast motioned until they were in the middle of it, surrounded by ivory haze and hues, by flickers of resplendence and serenity. Treading water, legs ensuring they managed to stay upright, he drew the jar before him, removing the lid, and then inquired, breaking the silence. “Do you want to do the honors?” Deimos raised the crystal-ware to her otter claws, pondering if she wished to capture the light, the water, in control of her own destiny and fortune.
looked the devil in the eye
I hope he's going to break these chains
DEIMOS
