who we are and all that we're trying to be
There was an inward flinch at the notions of no one being dragged into this mayhem. Unfortunately, they had been immersed from the very beginning: Outlanders taken in droves and placed within the barrier to free the damned Voice, and then the alliances afterward, as they scattered in droves. Armistices were all grand and genuine, but would they matter when the time came? Deimos had long since already pledged his allegiance to Safrin and the Old Gods alike; magic be damned (for he bore absolutely no shame in what he was).
But how many would think like Aino – they wouldn’t have to be involved? They wouldn’t have to prepare?
Until it was too late?
His brows furrowed, jaw clenched, and a very tightened, stifled breath escaped from his lungs, barely a plume in the air. His hands went to right the lopsided head, angling it upright, and placing a little more stuffing into its neck and shoulders; so now it truly looked ludicrous. “I do not think we will have that option,” he managed to contort eventually, still not glancing her way. It was already circling its way around Halo. Perhaps not as a tight of a noose as the Grounds, Torchline, or the Greatwood, but it was drifting inward all the same.
It was the Sword’s turn to be surprised when Aino hadn’t heard of a wheelchair; but he shrugged it off, immediately conjuring a piece of paper and charcoal into his palms, beginning with a flurry of sketches. The outline of wheels rallied, then handles and bars, outfitted with a decent cushion and backing of a regular chair – before handing it over to her. “It could give her some independence.”
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
