DEIMOS
Loss long since shaped him into this disheveled mess of flaws and greed: avarice for more and more and more before the earth dropped out from underneath him, grasping for things he likely shouldn’t have ever thought he could have. So moments stretched after Adam, after Peter, after LongNight, after Cera, after everything else, were just frayed, patched ends barely knotted together, conformed and contorted in his stoic haze. An outward shell while an inward, haphazard wake of suffering, grief, and agony, craving, yearning, longing to protect those that mattered the most (so he didn’t lose again and again and again).
Amalia had nothing to be sorry for though – not her fault that part of him would always be carved out of demise and fatalities, lethality and destruction.
He lifted his gaze from the ground and to their house, to Zuriel approaching, a haughty, demanding demeanor pulsing through his wake, at her irritation for not being permitted to go along with them. The beast was half-tempted to stare at her in derision, because what would she have done along Adam’s threshold, clenching his jaw tight again, swallowing down the harsh affects. The unicorn turned her head to Amalia with a narrowed, speculative eye, not advancing, likely calculating her next move, and Deimos was suddenly, infinitely, grateful for Jyoti’s calming essence, a soothing, buoyant mass tucked along his hair. His shoulders eased, breath loosened from their taut, tight accords, uncertain how much longer he was supposed to be keeping himself together.
The Sword tilted his head, indicating he was listening, while he opened their door, invited them all into the fold of their sanctuary. Releasing Amalia for the moment, he lifted his bag and placed it on a hook by the aperture, free of its confines, before turning back to her. There was consideration in his eyes, pondering if it mattered; glowing lights and flickering flames for those he wouldn’t see again. Something built behind his gaze again, unfurling, unwinding, and he so wanted to hide, tuck himself back into shells and vessels. He nodded in agreement, choking down a range of sounds and tones, before maneuvering into the expanse, before he cracked and splintered right across the threshold.
Zuriel’s slow procession and movement was a more measured air, shoving her muzzle into Amalia’s hands, before following the General inside. Out of habit she went to nestle herself before the hearth, even if there was no fire going. His own presence didn’t seem to understand where to go, a little lost, a little misplaced, before finally settling at the table, leaning against its surface. “I would not know where to start.” He’d never shared them before – his and his and his, the plumes of anguish and sorrow making him all the more covetous of things he’d cherished. But it was an extension, and he appreciated it, for the efforts she was striving to make. “If you wanted to share yours, I will listen.” Keep them in refrains, in memories, amongst the long-extended accord of those beloved and gone.
Amalia had nothing to be sorry for though – not her fault that part of him would always be carved out of demise and fatalities, lethality and destruction.
He lifted his gaze from the ground and to their house, to Zuriel approaching, a haughty, demanding demeanor pulsing through his wake, at her irritation for not being permitted to go along with them. The beast was half-tempted to stare at her in derision, because what would she have done along Adam’s threshold, clenching his jaw tight again, swallowing down the harsh affects. The unicorn turned her head to Amalia with a narrowed, speculative eye, not advancing, likely calculating her next move, and Deimos was suddenly, infinitely, grateful for Jyoti’s calming essence, a soothing, buoyant mass tucked along his hair. His shoulders eased, breath loosened from their taut, tight accords, uncertain how much longer he was supposed to be keeping himself together.
The Sword tilted his head, indicating he was listening, while he opened their door, invited them all into the fold of their sanctuary. Releasing Amalia for the moment, he lifted his bag and placed it on a hook by the aperture, free of its confines, before turning back to her. There was consideration in his eyes, pondering if it mattered; glowing lights and flickering flames for those he wouldn’t see again. Something built behind his gaze again, unfurling, unwinding, and he so wanted to hide, tuck himself back into shells and vessels. He nodded in agreement, choking down a range of sounds and tones, before maneuvering into the expanse, before he cracked and splintered right across the threshold.
Zuriel’s slow procession and movement was a more measured air, shoving her muzzle into Amalia’s hands, before following the General inside. Out of habit she went to nestle herself before the hearth, even if there was no fire going. His own presence didn’t seem to understand where to go, a little lost, a little misplaced, before finally settling at the table, leaning against its surface. “I would not know where to start.” He’d never shared them before – his and his and his, the plumes of anguish and sorrow making him all the more covetous of things he’d cherished. But it was an extension, and he appreciated it, for the efforts she was striving to make. “If you wanted to share yours, I will listen.” Keep them in refrains, in memories, amongst the long-extended accord of those beloved and gone.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
