like salt in the sea

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame If only they’d never had to this at all; a testament to mistakes and circumstances, an ode to bridges in sanctities, in sanctums, in alleviating hurts but still visiting the melancholies, wandering over the edges, the fringes, the boundaries of self-inflicted torment. Deimos had found himself lodged in very peculiar patterns and cycles: once, the first to die in their Helovian threshold, incapable of knowing if the impact of his perishing led to anything at all. Now, he’d be amongst and amidst the last, watching as they were pierced one by one by one, and he was left to stand and shoulder the dominion of things he couldn’t have again – to endure the endless onslaughts, to carry the pain and anguish. Except there were other lives touched and honored too, and he bowed his head in greeting to Bastien, stepping through the Artist’s Sanctuary’s threshold. Each time he entered there was something new – renderings of canvases, of portraits, of sculptings, streaks of vibrant colors, hues blending together in rapid disarray, but his scrutinizing gaze went to the Ascended first, the silent implications always there. He couldn’t ascertain enough apologies for the way things had played out – for the plots and protections gone so horribly awry. “How are you? And Azrael?” Then his gaze swept over the artifacts, the clay, the trinkets, gilded and gold, the portrait of the Penumbra staring back over him, and the shame rankling down his spine. I don’t blame you echoed in the ridges of his spine, but he wasn’t certain if he could ever cease condemning himself. Only thereafter did he turn back towards Bastien, a long exhale unfurling through his chest, and he could feel Zuriel stir near the door. “I did,” and he motioned towards the bag over his shoulder, containing some of the items he’d place. “I will make more.” Within the moment, within the instances, the created contortions coming to him when required. “Do you need help with anything?” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace