DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
Conversing about incantations again, mild and sparse as the verbose had been, distracted him; exactly what he preferred when faced with inherent memories, with images lined within his skull, with nuances he couldn’t have again. “Healing, creation, water, and some others are considered light.” Not drawn into the wealth of condemnation; though given his proclivities and predilections, he’d certainly done so more than once. Perhaps it was merely in his blood, in his bones, to eventually consider everything a weapon by some means. By some measure. By some machination, harnessed and harpooned to destroy, to defend. “Was it the same where you are from?” Different worlds and their tethers – a shrug of his shoulders as he continued pulling, tugging, watching Zuriel from the corner of his eye.
They rounded a curve, a bend, in the mountainous region, and he lifted his head against the chilling wind rolling off of it, became another elemental figure transfixed in its grasp – more battering recollections. “Not far,” and then he jutted his jaw, his chin, in the direction of the Citadel, beginning to rise over the horizon – a figment of home in the great, stark region, and it’d been a long time since that feeling had pressed over his soul.
They rounded a curve, a bend, in the mountainous region, and he lifted his head against the chilling wind rolling off of it, became another elemental figure transfixed in its grasp – more battering recollections. “Not far,” and then he jutted his jaw, his chin, in the direction of the Citadel, beginning to rise over the horizon – a figment of home in the great, stark region, and it’d been a long time since that feeling had pressed over his soul.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
