DEIMOS
A heavy breath and he began, the steady outlines of the first beginning to come together, gilded palms flanking over the outset, and he hated everything in that moment. That he had to do this at all. That he couldn’t sink into the ground and become part of its soil. That he was forced to stare into the multitudes and facets of them never returning, never coming back, never having them on this mortal plain again; a sickening drum in the back of his mind, a disastrous wake etching over his spine. But he could do nothing more than forge onwards, incapable of chasing their remnants.
So he’d let the lanterns be their stories – their triumphs, their victories, their etchings and symbols, and his love. He’d pour it into the factions until they could feel it from the other side, from realms he couldn’t touch, couldn’t press, couldn’t see, and the golden edges began to ignite below his hands, rounding into corners, into curls and coils of daggers and suns, where they’d shone the brightest across mountainous landscapes, where they’d towered over a hollowed portion of endless grounds, where they couldn’t be tarnished, couldn’t be trampled –
A voice pierced through the cluster of thoughts, and he nearly jumped. Too absorbed in his task, in his personal hells, he hadn’t noticed the stranger walking near – the sound of others approaching or crossing roads, cobblestones, had become a backdrop of white noise. He stilled momentarily, honed in on some ancient, primordial warrior prowess, instinct that told him to annihilate – until the Sword glanced upwards, breaking apart the chains and tethers. He didn’t recognize this figure, though it was understandable, given his newness to the region, to the citizens, to the inhabitants.
But there were scars there too, on this figure’s face, and they’d all been brutalized so heavily that he wouldn’t growl, wouldn’t shirk, wouldn’t hiss the younger individual away. Instead, he sighed, trying to find a way to dampen the emotions, to keep them from flooding over the instilling of despair, to reach down into himself so he didn’t fall apart in front of this individual. “I am,” was a quiet murmur, hanging his head, glancing over the fragments he’d already started. “You can join.” There were a few other chairs available; and the Sword felt Zuriel’s gaze on him, on the fellow lantern-maker, on his flesh and bone.
So he’d let the lanterns be their stories – their triumphs, their victories, their etchings and symbols, and his love. He’d pour it into the factions until they could feel it from the other side, from realms he couldn’t touch, couldn’t press, couldn’t see, and the golden edges began to ignite below his hands, rounding into corners, into curls and coils of daggers and suns, where they’d shone the brightest across mountainous landscapes, where they’d towered over a hollowed portion of endless grounds, where they couldn’t be tarnished, couldn’t be trampled –
A voice pierced through the cluster of thoughts, and he nearly jumped. Too absorbed in his task, in his personal hells, he hadn’t noticed the stranger walking near – the sound of others approaching or crossing roads, cobblestones, had become a backdrop of white noise. He stilled momentarily, honed in on some ancient, primordial warrior prowess, instinct that told him to annihilate – until the Sword glanced upwards, breaking apart the chains and tethers. He didn’t recognize this figure, though it was understandable, given his newness to the region, to the citizens, to the inhabitants.
But there were scars there too, on this figure’s face, and they’d all been brutalized so heavily that he wouldn’t growl, wouldn’t shirk, wouldn’t hiss the younger individual away. Instead, he sighed, trying to find a way to dampen the emotions, to keep them from flooding over the instilling of despair, to reach down into himself so he didn’t fall apart in front of this individual. “I am,” was a quiet murmur, hanging his head, glancing over the fragments he’d already started. “You can join.” There were a few other chairs available; and the Sword felt Zuriel’s gaze on him, on the fellow lantern-maker, on his flesh and bone.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
