DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
What he’d meant as self-deprecating, dry, caustic humor, the Shield turned and shifted into something else entirely. His head lifted instantly from staring into the pool’s depths, eyes rounding in surprise as the words lilted into the air. The modicum of disbelief already began behind his teeth, ready to refuse and refute the compliments; for there had not been a day in any lives where he’d been proclaimed as remarkable. Malicious, spiteful, petty, iniquitous, and wicked were certainties – but seemed gone, vanquished, forgotten aspects on the awe and admiration. He snorted, striving to avoid the crimson flush courting along his cheeks, and maybe hidden by his beard, attempting to absorb the words for their worth. And yet, I still do not deserve you contorted through his mind, but he didn’t give it a voice, didn’t give it a soul, in between their bond.
Instead, he might aspire to be all of those things, for her, for this world. To hold true to her claims, her ideas, her notions of him – not so blackened, marred, and splintered.
Giving himself a few moments to find composure, Deimos inclined a cheeky snicker back over his shoulder; but the truth was still there, uttered in deep reverberations. “You are still far better.” In convictions, in promises, in determination, in beauty, in morality, in the beacons of stalwart stars.
She joined him briefly, and the monolith allowed his own open reverence of her in the quiet, in the stolen glances of a Shield peering into the water, and his eyes only for her. He saw the mischief contorted and rampaging when she twisted back to him, an extension of their game, a way to manifest something beyond heartache and woe; returned with a devilish glimmer in his stare.
Then Amalia sprung across the water, gaze following, one brow arched in amusement – then everything narrowing, the pulsing thrill of a hunt, of a chase, one to end in beyond enticement and temptation. He stayed where he was, the fervency building in his bones, pervading through limbs, a feral accord curling in the midst. “Hm. And if she is caught, then the explorer might show his generosity?”
Instead, he might aspire to be all of those things, for her, for this world. To hold true to her claims, her ideas, her notions of him – not so blackened, marred, and splintered.
Giving himself a few moments to find composure, Deimos inclined a cheeky snicker back over his shoulder; but the truth was still there, uttered in deep reverberations. “You are still far better.” In convictions, in promises, in determination, in beauty, in morality, in the beacons of stalwart stars.
She joined him briefly, and the monolith allowed his own open reverence of her in the quiet, in the stolen glances of a Shield peering into the water, and his eyes only for her. He saw the mischief contorted and rampaging when she twisted back to him, an extension of their game, a way to manifest something beyond heartache and woe; returned with a devilish glimmer in his stare.
Then Amalia sprung across the water, gaze following, one brow arched in amusement – then everything narrowing, the pulsing thrill of a hunt, of a chase, one to end in beyond enticement and temptation. He stayed where he was, the fervency building in his bones, pervading through limbs, a feral accord curling in the midst. “Hm. And if she is caught, then the explorer might show his generosity?”
I belong to you
the way the moon belongs to the stars
the way the moon belongs to the stars
