DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Her laughter, swift and keen and unheard of beyond its forced nature, reached his ears, encouraged, allured, finessed the same semblance of repose and sanctity. Comfort here, in the notion of teasing and speculation, with nothing more on their shoulders save for the stretch of the sun. His walk turned wandering, listless, languid, incentive for her to catch up, before he meandered along a stretch again.
He’d tried, so many damned times, to hide in the shadows, to creep along the edges, to not be seen, heard, or noticed. Brawny figures made it nearly impossible, and the world persisting on reaching into the cover of darkness, persuading him to come out, clawing, tugging, assuring, meant he could only be within its comfortable refrain for so long. But he tilted his head, pondering if he misunderstood her quip, snorting with the stretch of his smirk continuing to reside. “Must be my charming personality.” The Sword looked forward, ahead, stretching his arms above to band his hair back, the warmth radiating and pulsing.
The story of alternate paths continued while he found one for them here, eyes catching onto a small pool nearby – attention diverting towards it, simply out of curiosity. He paused in his perusal to raise his head from its embankments, to fully regard her, arch to his brows, Cheshire grin to his features. Dancers and explorers, full moons, cyclical partings and meetings, another rumble of chuckles threatening to erupt – safe to dream here, with the lavender tucked behind his ear. “And if he tried to dance with her?”
He’d tried, so many damned times, to hide in the shadows, to creep along the edges, to not be seen, heard, or noticed. Brawny figures made it nearly impossible, and the world persisting on reaching into the cover of darkness, persuading him to come out, clawing, tugging, assuring, meant he could only be within its comfortable refrain for so long. But he tilted his head, pondering if he misunderstood her quip, snorting with the stretch of his smirk continuing to reside. “Must be my charming personality.” The Sword looked forward, ahead, stretching his arms above to band his hair back, the warmth radiating and pulsing.
The story of alternate paths continued while he found one for them here, eyes catching onto a small pool nearby – attention diverting towards it, simply out of curiosity. He paused in his perusal to raise his head from its embankments, to fully regard her, arch to his brows, Cheshire grin to his features. Dancers and explorers, full moons, cyclical partings and meetings, another rumble of chuckles threatening to erupt – safe to dream here, with the lavender tucked behind his ear. “And if he tried to dance with her?”
I belong to you
the way the moon belongs to the stars
the way the moon belongs to the stars
