I run to the river and dive straight in
I pray that the water will drown out the din
After the trauma of Rexanna's loss, after the haunting refrain of Aoife's cries, after the night and the loss and the deaths, so many deaths, their efforts already proven on the very first night to be in vain-
Amalia is tired.
She slips back in the cursed door, past the guards with a curt nod and a declaration that all is well, there is no sign of monster or onslaught - none they need concern themselves with, at least. Then on bare feet she makes her way to the corner they have carved out for themselves, each other, where she and her Sword have claimed as haven, in search of the man who is always waiting-
Deimos is not there.
Blankly she stares at the small room, as though he might materialize if she looks hard enough. He does not - of course he does not - and there is a second where she considers leaving it at that, sinking onto the bed and letting her exhaustion and the darkness overtake her.
But then, he has always been a light when she needed it. And though it is easier for her to fade back into darkness, she cannot. Not when it is him.
She finds him not long after, following whispered directions toward the place where the body rests. She finds him by his heartbeat and his aura, his scent and his sound; she finds him by the utterly unfamiliar beating of his sobs against her soul itself, like the thunderous sea on the bulwark of his heart. Smaller, slighter, she sinks down to the floor, desperately uncertain as to how to save him and knowing that whatever it takes she must, she must.
With gentle hands she reaches out to caress his face, taking it between her palms and attempting to coax it upwards. Should that fail she will transition to stroking against his hair. "Shh, Deimos," she murmurs, fervent and desperate to penetrate the grief. The vocalization is less to actually quiet him than to act as a soothing sound, like her grandmother used to say to her. "Shh, love. I'm here. It's going to be okay."
Amalia is tired.
She slips back in the cursed door, past the guards with a curt nod and a declaration that all is well, there is no sign of monster or onslaught - none they need concern themselves with, at least. Then on bare feet she makes her way to the corner they have carved out for themselves, each other, where she and her Sword have claimed as haven, in search of the man who is always waiting-
Deimos is not there.
Blankly she stares at the small room, as though he might materialize if she looks hard enough. He does not - of course he does not - and there is a second where she considers leaving it at that, sinking onto the bed and letting her exhaustion and the darkness overtake her.
But then, he has always been a light when she needed it. And though it is easier for her to fade back into darkness, she cannot. Not when it is him.
She finds him not long after, following whispered directions toward the place where the body rests. She finds him by his heartbeat and his aura, his scent and his sound; she finds him by the utterly unfamiliar beating of his sobs against her soul itself, like the thunderous sea on the bulwark of his heart. Smaller, slighter, she sinks down to the floor, desperately uncertain as to how to save him and knowing that whatever it takes she must, she must.
With gentle hands she reaches out to caress his face, taking it between her palms and attempting to coax it upwards. Should that fail she will transition to stroking against his hair. "Shh, Deimos," she murmurs, fervent and desperate to penetrate the grief. The vocalization is less to actually quiet him than to act as a soothing sound, like her grandmother used to say to her. "Shh, love. I'm here. It's going to be okay."
i swallow the sound and it swallows me whole
'Til there's nothing left inside my soul
Amalia
