i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty
He was breaking again.
He could feel it along the edges, across the seams, the strands he’d so painstakingly tied back together, strived to keep from tearing, from ripping, from fumbling apart. It pierced along the contorting of his veins, curled and coiled into the ramparts’ vestiges, and knocked, fumbled, rattled, and threatened to tear it all down. All the walls, all the guards, all the fortifications could come toppling down on a wayward breeze, on one flickering cinder, on one fallen, wayward ash.
But not out of grief. This was something else altogether. Hope? Love? Devotion? Elation? Did those things exist for him anymore? The monolith had thought them gone, taken and stripped away from him, piece by piece, portion by portion, until he’d wandered out into this world and waited to crumble, for everything to cease, distort, and end. Where did it begin again – when friends picked him up, when there were other beings to live for, or here, now, when the shards weren’t so blunt, and the void not so dark?
He didn’t know. In the back of his mind crept something else; age-old machinations, a whirlwind, a beckoning, clawing warning, but for now he shoved it aside. For now he reveled in the fact that she was real, whole, tangible, alive. For now he forced away the nuances, the consequences, the Reaper tendencies, and simply held.
Who leaned upon who didn’t connect or correspond to his mind – a familiar walk down the cobblestones of the Citadel, limbs taking him towards the Barracks, everything habitual, overridden in their motions. The inquiry clawed and rankled, and the General bit back a sigh. “Since Flowerbirth.” And what had once been a symbol of renewal had been caustically warped into disaster, each season after that stretching into more ruins. “What do you want to know?”
He could feel it along the edges, across the seams, the strands he’d so painstakingly tied back together, strived to keep from tearing, from ripping, from fumbling apart. It pierced along the contorting of his veins, curled and coiled into the ramparts’ vestiges, and knocked, fumbled, rattled, and threatened to tear it all down. All the walls, all the guards, all the fortifications could come toppling down on a wayward breeze, on one flickering cinder, on one fallen, wayward ash.
But not out of grief. This was something else altogether. Hope? Love? Devotion? Elation? Did those things exist for him anymore? The monolith had thought them gone, taken and stripped away from him, piece by piece, portion by portion, until he’d wandered out into this world and waited to crumble, for everything to cease, distort, and end. Where did it begin again – when friends picked him up, when there were other beings to live for, or here, now, when the shards weren’t so blunt, and the void not so dark?
He didn’t know. In the back of his mind crept something else; age-old machinations, a whirlwind, a beckoning, clawing warning, but for now he shoved it aside. For now he reveled in the fact that she was real, whole, tangible, alive. For now he forced away the nuances, the consequences, the Reaper tendencies, and simply held.
Who leaned upon who didn’t connect or correspond to his mind – a familiar walk down the cobblestones of the Citadel, limbs taking him towards the Barracks, everything habitual, overridden in their motions. The inquiry clawed and rankled, and the General bit back a sigh. “Since Flowerbirth.” And what had once been a symbol of renewal had been caustically warped into disaster, each season after that stretching into more ruins. “What do you want to know?”
or your stubbornness?
DEIMOS
