like salt in the sea

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Some portions complete, despite the lack of magic use, and new directions corresponded his way. A firm nod indicated he could, never been an individual not willing to put forth an effort and try, especially for those he cherished, and Rexanna had been amongst those paragons and pedestals. He strove to adhere to Bastien’s request, eyeing, sizing, the matters and materials, continuing in the same manner they’d readily applied earlier, layering and lacquering the clay to strength and precision, manifesting supports where they’d need to be rendered. And though he would’ve been done in a matter of moments if allowed to glide his gilded palms over the surface, perhaps this way was more satisfying, presiding effects and precision for the Penumbra. “I dreamed of her, recently,” he noted – as if to make conversation, as if to impart her spirit back into the confines, that some souls, though not with Mort, presided and remained far longer, loomed far larger, than they could ever think to convey. “Said she would always be in here.” And he pointed to his chest, where his withered, decayed heart still beat – then nodded once more in the Ascended’s direction, indicating she’d be in Bastien’s too. Uncertain whether Bastien was attempting to lift his spirits, mollify the sudden situation, or simply move quickly over the rupture, the ravine, the Sword snorted. He’d never gone actively seeking or searching out love in any of its forms; they’d just happened, occurred, and usually by surprise. And he’d hurt enough for two lifetimes – enduring loss after loss after loss. He’d appease the artist in some measure of joke, striving to pinpoint a way out of this damned mess – dry, self-deprecating humor beckoning instead of sinking further. “Not my charming personality?” A grin to hone in that there were no hard feelings on his end – just that he was endlessly tired of wandering back into the same murk, the same tethers, the same lines, consistently haunting him. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace