DEIMOS
Faith in gods had never been a figment of Helovia or Isilme; too many war-mongering constituents, and very rarely had their triumphs or failures been deigned for the deities. Mirage was the only he could consider holding and sticking to those emblems of fortitude and might, for the moon, for the World’s Edge. For most of them, beliefs and creeds had been in one another, in their own selves, entities, and existences, and even then, sometimes it was a disappointing parallel. Abasi’s efforts, wherever he’d been from, had apparently meant his realms hadn’t been unique – other worlds where damnation was a truth, an eventuality, for those too wicked, too iniquitous, too subversive. He squeezed her hand tighter as she shuddered, as she contemplated the differentials. Whether it was for him or her was left unsaid.
But her next set of inquiries meant he wouldn’t have to ask his own – same, segmented, cut, piercing, down in the feral lines of constant loss. They wouldn’t be amongst them, when his soul departed for the mortal realm again. They were likely stuck and snagged in Isilme’s heavens, or in Helovia’s destroyed ramparts. His eyes went downcast, stuck on the ground as they walked, intaking a harsh breath, meant to fill his lungs with something other than sorrow. “I lost them twice.” A shrug, as if to keep the bitterness, the rancor, the anguish at bay, but it simmered and seethed down his skin. “I am not surprised it would happen again.” An eternity of having them briefly, enough to love, to cherish, and then split him apart when they were gone.
His eyes wandered, lifted, from her and then to their home, Zuriel in the distance – looking ridiculously cross, by the glance she gave him. His voice, his body, felt somewhat numb now, wraiths closing in. “I saw their ghosts when Safrin was making me Attuned,” the screams to fly, when he thought he was sent to his death one more time. A sketch, an outline, of a burdened, saddened smile traced over his mouth, gaze following down to her stare. “I can keep them in my memories.” But that was all he had left.
But her next set of inquiries meant he wouldn’t have to ask his own – same, segmented, cut, piercing, down in the feral lines of constant loss. They wouldn’t be amongst them, when his soul departed for the mortal realm again. They were likely stuck and snagged in Isilme’s heavens, or in Helovia’s destroyed ramparts. His eyes went downcast, stuck on the ground as they walked, intaking a harsh breath, meant to fill his lungs with something other than sorrow. “I lost them twice.” A shrug, as if to keep the bitterness, the rancor, the anguish at bay, but it simmered and seethed down his skin. “I am not surprised it would happen again.” An eternity of having them briefly, enough to love, to cherish, and then split him apart when they were gone.
His eyes wandered, lifted, from her and then to their home, Zuriel in the distance – looking ridiculously cross, by the glance she gave him. His voice, his body, felt somewhat numb now, wraiths closing in. “I saw their ghosts when Safrin was making me Attuned,” the screams to fly, when he thought he was sent to his death one more time. A sketch, an outline, of a burdened, saddened smile traced over his mouth, gaze following down to her stare. “I can keep them in my memories.” But that was all he had left.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
