Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
At the first instinctual pull and tug of Bastien’s question, he would’ve said a weapon. A streamline of dominion and prowess, some serrated edges to bludgeon an enemy, to render adversaries and monsters torn asunder. But that didn’t seem very inclined towards arts, and such armaments in plaster or sculpted denizens wouldn’t be effective. So he wondered, very briefly, of things he enjoyed, of worlds apart from here, of beauty and enigmas that didn’t seem to quite touch upon these realms. Or he was very biased. “Could I paint something?” Instead of sculpting, because he wasn’t sure he could do it justice. “There were auroras, back in the Basin…” Favored and revered, portions of light even his darkness couldn’t taint or devour.
With no further comments on Tembovu, the Sword was content to leave the subject matter behind; instead tending to cloven hooves and leonine tails, while listening to Bastien. And they were comprehensive reaches and heartaches, where reality slowed and seemed dimmer, unfathomable, intangible, a nightmare with no basis, until it suddenly was. Because she wasn’t coming back. Because there were no Penumbra smiles lingering at thresholds, because there were no more cloak and dagger secrets, because there were no more shared motives. Glancing upwards, Deimos could see that he’d reopened wounds and lacerations, and clenched his jaw, the regrets piling on top of one another. “Sorry. I understand.”
With no further comments on Tembovu, the Sword was content to leave the subject matter behind; instead tending to cloven hooves and leonine tails, while listening to Bastien. And they were comprehensive reaches and heartaches, where reality slowed and seemed dimmer, unfathomable, intangible, a nightmare with no basis, until it suddenly was. Because she wasn’t coming back. Because there were no Penumbra smiles lingering at thresholds, because there were no more cloak and dagger secrets, because there were no more shared motives. Glancing upwards, Deimos could see that he’d reopened wounds and lacerations, and clenched his jaw, the regrets piling on top of one another. “Sorry. I understand.”
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
