DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Understandable notions; and the beast left the remains of his Machiavellian fringes behind, not asking about the upcoming fruitions. Something for the back of his mind to contemplate and fathom, if and when everything became so much worse. He left a passing comment instead, a nod of his head, extending it outwards so that she might think about the benefits too – unaware of what lingered beyond, within the mound, underneath portions and pieces of sand. “It could be quite beneficial, especially when people are in need.” But it was hers; and would ultimately be up to her decisions, her wake, her regards, for whatever unraveled in the future. And for a private individual like himself, he understood the value of a haven, a shelter, a sanctuary. The Sword simply kept losing his.
Passing over another assortment of feathers, withered plants, and then some sea glass, his gaze rounded back to her as she described the clearly favored gravity pulse – floating along and beyond, with no need for wings. “Have you tested how far you can go?” A very childish and juvenile tendency perhaps, but the beast had strived immediately upon gaining his eagle shift, seeing how far, how quickly, he could soar through the air.
He didn’t expect the question to follow though; furrowing his brows briefly, head bowing slightly. “Most of my creations have a purpose.” They could be beautiful, adorned, neatly ornate, inscribed, detailed – but they’d rarely been brought forth or beckoned simply to exist. Once or twice for Amalia, probably, in all those selfless wakes, like necklaces with charms to remember friends, family, and loved ones by. But Deimos hadn’t done so since. “They are not always the same,” he defended, but it was with a slight lift of his cranium, a mocking derision.
And maybe he could conjure a star that lit up without its fellow constellations, a flower that never wilted, or a music box – but he couldn’t fathom the reason. “And what good would those items be?”
Passing over another assortment of feathers, withered plants, and then some sea glass, his gaze rounded back to her as she described the clearly favored gravity pulse – floating along and beyond, with no need for wings. “Have you tested how far you can go?” A very childish and juvenile tendency perhaps, but the beast had strived immediately upon gaining his eagle shift, seeing how far, how quickly, he could soar through the air.
He didn’t expect the question to follow though; furrowing his brows briefly, head bowing slightly. “Most of my creations have a purpose.” They could be beautiful, adorned, neatly ornate, inscribed, detailed – but they’d rarely been brought forth or beckoned simply to exist. Once or twice for Amalia, probably, in all those selfless wakes, like necklaces with charms to remember friends, family, and loved ones by. But Deimos hadn’t done so since. “They are not always the same,” he defended, but it was with a slight lift of his cranium, a mocking derision.
And maybe he could conjure a star that lit up without its fellow constellations, a flower that never wilted, or a music box – but he couldn’t fathom the reason. “And what good would those items be?”
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
