DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
He rolled his eyes at the insinuation, at the tone, allowing the tease to root itself along his chest and shoulders, instead of openly defying it. They both knew there’d been many moments where he hadn’t been good at all; contemptuous, abhorrent, giving into grudges and hatred, plunging straight into heresy, nefarious measures, and the swing of a blade without a second thought. The warnings given, the preambles struck, the etching and writing on the wall – a shadowy, belligerent figure waiting in the wings for his opportunity to strike.
But he could see what she was doing, and no, he didn’t want to end the day in residual sorrows either. So the Sword sighed once more, eyes lifting along the walls of what she’d created, what she’d strived for, and where she’d grow from all this mess. “Then you find someone better.” His smile softened, not rounded into complete mischief just yet. “And in the meantime, heal, and become better yourself.” A simplistic venture maybe, as if it hadn’t taken him well over a year to process from his own heartbreak – forge onward and ahead. But if she could give him advice, he could do the same in return.
Besides, the notions of the mentioned blasphemy set the juvenile grin alight – boyish and devilry encompassed in all accord across his features. “Sounds like perfection.” Deimos imagined it then, the electrical fragments binding and blinding the caricature, frying him in the midst of the training grounds. The only thing that would make it better would be hauling it across mountains and watching it fall down the summit. Then he laughed too, his own waves of approval, incapable of controlling the exuberance flickering through his chest, wiping a stray tear from his eye.
But he could see what she was doing, and no, he didn’t want to end the day in residual sorrows either. So the Sword sighed once more, eyes lifting along the walls of what she’d created, what she’d strived for, and where she’d grow from all this mess. “Then you find someone better.” His smile softened, not rounded into complete mischief just yet. “And in the meantime, heal, and become better yourself.” A simplistic venture maybe, as if it hadn’t taken him well over a year to process from his own heartbreak – forge onward and ahead. But if she could give him advice, he could do the same in return.
Besides, the notions of the mentioned blasphemy set the juvenile grin alight – boyish and devilry encompassed in all accord across his features. “Sounds like perfection.” Deimos imagined it then, the electrical fragments binding and blinding the caricature, frying him in the midst of the training grounds. The only thing that would make it better would be hauling it across mountains and watching it fall down the summit. Then he laughed too, his own waves of approval, incapable of controlling the exuberance flickering through his chest, wiping a stray tear from his eye.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
