hold tight the hand of the heart that breaks

i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins

until i bleed silver and gold

“It should be. And yet.” She murmurs, a knowing glance shared his way, before she’s turning slightly in the water and releasing her hold on him to dip below the warm rippling waves. When she emerges, her hair slicked back against her head, along her face as she pulls it back. She’s in front of him now, wading easily in the warmth of the pools – her eyes bright, glimmering a glow of sorts.

A wider smile crosses her face with his question. “Of course you can. I’ll always hear you, Deimos.” She reaches up then, to brush some of the hair from his face, looking into his eyes with all the warmth old friends had, before she presses in on him again with a tight hug full of warmth and the feeling that she might never let go.

maybe one day they'll chant our names

and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal

REXANNA

Deimos the Reaper You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this long and lonely road to hell the throne must be such a sad and lonely place And yet - It all hurt because that was how he lived his life, in a series of losses, pain, and anguish, because he couldn’t rid himself of every tragedy that shook him to the core, because once he’d blasted apart the world and now it just pummeled at him, one thing after another after another. He didn’t know what else to do. How not to sink. How not to mire and ruin himself. And for a moment he panicked, as she went down below the depths, wondering if this was the end of the dream and he’d have to return back to his forged-hell, where anything that had gone well spiraled so tragically in the other direction. His eyes widened, his mouth parted, and he thought about crashing down into the ripples, the waves, himself – And then she came right back up, and the breath he held stayed lodged in his chest, feral and depleted. “So why is it not?” He said, he uttered, he begged, he pleaded, arms beckoning her closer until his embrace was tight around her too, and he wouldn’t lose her again. “Okay. You can say anything to me too. I will always listen.” To the ghosts, to the phantoms, to the wraiths pervading his every essence.

_{Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary}

i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins

until i bleed silver and gold

The dream isn’t quite finished yet – not as she reemerges and darts forward to embrace him tightly – a force that he’ll feel long after he wakes. His arms wrap around her too and she nestles in close to his chest, pressing her cheek against him and taking a long deep inhale. “Because each time something happens to you, you stack another brick on top of the other.” She murmurs against his skin, tilting her head up to look at him. “You shut everyone out and write their names on the bricks when they’re gone.”

A few moments pass, however, and she settles in at the fact that he could talk to them whenever. And when he offers that he will always listen to her, her fanged grin is bright and gentle, soft and kind as the dream world around them shifts and flickers again. “I know you will.” She lets one arm go away from around him to reach up and tap at his nose. “You’re a perfect listener and the best secret keeper I know.”

maybe one day they'll chant our names

and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal

REXANNA

Deimos the Reaper You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this long and lonely road to hell the throne must be such a sad and lonely place The statements pierced, and he knew, he knew; the gatekeeper to his own decrepit heart, closing off walls and locking doors, casting everything aside when the pain became torturous, when the lacerations wove deeply into the vessels and chambers, when he choked and defied. “It hurts when they go. It never leaves. I cannot hasten the anguish away.” And so they stacked, and stacked, and stacked, until he was within his own prison, and their names against his sorrows, collecting in the ash, dust, and fibers. So he could stare and remember, so he could grieve and bear it for lifetimes. But she was there, there, and there, and he knew her title was on one of those damned piles, amongst and amidst so many others. Comfort for now, but not reality. Not tangible. Not whole. When he awakened, there would still be a hole. There would still be a force extinguished, vacant, absent from his life. A tap at his nose brought him out, and he looked down upon her in his arms, barely breathing, barely collected, tossed and shorn. “Sometimes I think I collect them.” A tired grin from the side of his lips; hoarder of furtive vows.

_{Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary}

i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins

until i bleed silver and gold

“I know.” She murmurs softly, keeping him close as she considers her next words. There’s a variety of things she could say, a multitude of them that settle on the tip of her tongue. But she reins it in, focusing on the stony face of Deimos as a small smile plays on her lips. “Let it hurt. But... let it go. Make new memories to cover the hurt. It’s what I did.” She shrugs, her smile growing wider. “I could have been cold and bitter after my memories returned, of all those children and a loveless marriage, of losing nearly all of them except for Kiada. But I didn’t… And I’m glad. Because they’re still there in my memories, but I had Azrael and Bastien for a time. I have Clemente here too.” And then she’s reaching up to tap on his nose.

There’s a ghost of a smile that cracks his face and she squeezes him tight. “You probably do. Make a box in your mind you can tuck them away into. Don’t leave them hanging up for the cobwebs to find.” She murmurs softly, flashing him another wide grin.

maybe one day they'll chant our names

and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal

REXANNA

Deimos the Reaper You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this long and lonely road to hell the throne must be such a sad and lonely place The statement left him baffled, the dream-like state never a consideration. Let go of the memories? Of the vengeance? Of the revenge? “But then –,” he wanted to argue, to keep the sentiments for as long as possible, to cling to the only things he had left. Making new memories had been key here, and he thought he’d been doing well, until – Everything kept fracturing and falling apart. “I cannot let you go.” Or Kiada. Or any of the other ghosts in his sights. Fellow Basiners, ripped asunder. His parents, slain or disappeared. Comrades in arms, cheering over drunken songs until they could no longer, and the battle was upon them. The girl in the rain, cascading showers and rivulets of a world tangled and knotted in his chest. Friends here and there, torn apart by every other disastrous banner. Maybe he couldn’t understand. Maybe he lived on regrets and rue. Maybe he was far greedier than he’d ever realized, longing and yearning for eternities that could never come to fruition. Maybe he’d never tried anything different, and the notions confounded, confused, until he was bent sideways. Her smile didn’t brighten his, too lost and rattled, but he sighed beside her, contemplated the grin. “I remember them all. None will go forgotten.”

_{Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary}

i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins

until i bleed silver and gold

Oh, she knows he wants to argue – but she hopes the tightening of her arms keeps it at bay, keeps him from rumbling his worries and fears, keeps him from admitting they hold the forceful leash of him. She wants him to be happy, to live and live, but there’s very little she can do if he harbors so much guilt. But this is a dream, and she’s incapable of giving him the tools to figure out just how to let go of the guilt, aside from reminding him over and over and over again that it isn’t his fault.

The subject of letting go, though, has her peering up at him from dark lashes, from where she’s buried into his chest. “You have to.” Comes the quiet prompt, the announcement that they very much indeed needs to be something that he lets go of. Even if it’s softly at first – so long as the memory of her doesn’t pain him every time he thinks of her.

And then, she begins to flicker and filter into something far less tangible, until only her face remains and the rest of her is wreathed in mist like a ghost, still grinning, still beaming. “Stay safe, Deimos. I love you.” She murmurs softly, blowing him a kiss of mist until the cloud covers his cheek with an ice cold kiss.

maybe one day they'll chant our names

and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal

REXANNA