DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
For all the paths Deimos had taken in his lives, this hadn’t been one he’d predicted.
Calculations, machinations, and scrupulous footholds didn’t, couldn’t, compare. A Machiavellian outreach had no place here. Tragedy, devastation, ruin, and loss sunk into the granules of the world, and the stars kept them at bay. The battlefields didn’t hark or call, the slate of sedition didn’t spread through his veins; not on this night, not intertwined within this evening. Try as they might, the shadows couldn’t scorch, couldn’t lacerate, couldn’t bend or break; he wouldn’t yield to their soulless regard, to their mutinous decrees.
He could march into the oeuvre and wonder just how he’d reached for the stars and found them in his grasp – undeserving, an eldritch, infernal wake, a devastating ruin, too far gone in its reaches – but those thoughts don’t touch here. Not in these sacred throngs, not with the sun inching down, not with the night enfolding over them, not with promises and convictions to be uttered into sacred oaths, not with all those insinuations already beating, bleeding into his heart.
The Sword followed the Shield. His eyes could’ve been anywhere; on the embellished sanction their brethren had put together, on the established fortitude they’d shared and built, on the bewitching canvas of constellations and galaxies. But they were reserved for her, for her, for her.
His hands were full too, carrying the brazier orchestrated from his own palms, pockets full of the rings in their adorned boxes, the semblance of his suit designed and willed by their family, the cape illustriously fanning down his back. For once, he’d been groomed impeccably, a trim to his beard, wild, long locks briefly tamed – Zuriel somewhere off to the side, a proud set to her otherwise, normally haughty demeanor. If her head were any higher, she might’ve joined the rest of the deities.
But tonight was for them, as he drew beside her, as he glanced down, the corner of his eyes riveted to her and her alone: he’d already long-since pledged his soul and his entity and everything else that laid in between. These were mere formalities, sanctions and sanctums and sanctuaries in steadfast chords; visions of hollowed shells becoming hallowed contortions, living and breathing again with sun and stars at his side. It was a sudden, agonizing thing, to wonder how he’d existed without her near him for so long.
Then again, perhaps it didn’t matter now.
He passed the brazier to Kiada with a wink, before returning his attention upon Amalia, a wild inhale tracing through his lungs, his chest, and then finality, eternity, forever sculpted within his soul, and all was well. This was all he needed. This was what he coveted. This was what he cherished. A whisper wound its way to his ear, and he bent his head towards hers, so that gazes were met and souls were eclipsed. “I love you,” a murmur, a croon in return, and then, as if to challenge, to goad, to infuse everything they were, a wicked curl to his lips settled in place. The first didn't need to be said (yes). “Are you?”
Calculations, machinations, and scrupulous footholds didn’t, couldn’t, compare. A Machiavellian outreach had no place here. Tragedy, devastation, ruin, and loss sunk into the granules of the world, and the stars kept them at bay. The battlefields didn’t hark or call, the slate of sedition didn’t spread through his veins; not on this night, not intertwined within this evening. Try as they might, the shadows couldn’t scorch, couldn’t lacerate, couldn’t bend or break; he wouldn’t yield to their soulless regard, to their mutinous decrees.
He could march into the oeuvre and wonder just how he’d reached for the stars and found them in his grasp – undeserving, an eldritch, infernal wake, a devastating ruin, too far gone in its reaches – but those thoughts don’t touch here. Not in these sacred throngs, not with the sun inching down, not with the night enfolding over them, not with promises and convictions to be uttered into sacred oaths, not with all those insinuations already beating, bleeding into his heart.
The Sword followed the Shield. His eyes could’ve been anywhere; on the embellished sanction their brethren had put together, on the established fortitude they’d shared and built, on the bewitching canvas of constellations and galaxies. But they were reserved for her, for her, for her.
His hands were full too, carrying the brazier orchestrated from his own palms, pockets full of the rings in their adorned boxes, the semblance of his suit designed and willed by their family, the cape illustriously fanning down his back. For once, he’d been groomed impeccably, a trim to his beard, wild, long locks briefly tamed – Zuriel somewhere off to the side, a proud set to her otherwise, normally haughty demeanor. If her head were any higher, she might’ve joined the rest of the deities.
But tonight was for them, as he drew beside her, as he glanced down, the corner of his eyes riveted to her and her alone: he’d already long-since pledged his soul and his entity and everything else that laid in between. These were mere formalities, sanctions and sanctums and sanctuaries in steadfast chords; visions of hollowed shells becoming hallowed contortions, living and breathing again with sun and stars at his side. It was a sudden, agonizing thing, to wonder how he’d existed without her near him for so long.
Then again, perhaps it didn’t matter now.
He passed the brazier to Kiada with a wink, before returning his attention upon Amalia, a wild inhale tracing through his lungs, his chest, and then finality, eternity, forever sculpted within his soul, and all was well. This was all he needed. This was what he coveted. This was what he cherished. A whisper wound its way to his ear, and he bent his head towards hers, so that gazes were met and souls were eclipsed. “I love you,” a murmur, a croon in return, and then, as if to challenge, to goad, to infuse everything they were, a wicked curl to his lips settled in place. The first didn't need to be said (yes). “Are you?”
I belong to you
the way the moon belongs to the stars
the way the moon belongs to the stars
