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 Touch expressed but not truly felt, not with wraiths, phantoms, factions of memories, the notions of support still there otherwise. Her laughter was a balm, a press of other days better spent, out of idle seclusion and heartache. He’d orchestrate it again and again if he could; to listen to a sound he’d not otherwise have any longer, to make it last for as long as possible. The cackle was followed by a raw chuckle of his own, guttural and wild, real and tangible for those interludes of seconds and snippets. Even when the subject altered slightly, and only because he didn’t really care if it was dead or not, his brow furrowed, an undulating shrug through soothed shoulders. “It dissolved.” Whether or not that meant it was dead or merely just gone into the ether, back into fathoms and depths, he didn’t know. But he still put on a show, as icicles like daggers curled from the water too, and stabbed at the manifested beast. You’re never without me echoed and ricocheted, and if there was one thing he remembered from all of this, he hoped it was that sentiment, stored in his heart. “And Kiada? And everyone else too?” A plea, falling from lips, from the piercing set of his gaze. |
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary
