DEIMOS
Deimos thought at first he might be hearing things; so he shifted his head, turned slightly over his shoulder – clearly perplexed, bewilderment written in his features: by the arch of his brow, by the widening of his eyes, by the snort threatening to ensue. By all the manners in which he’d lived his multiple lives, and very few ever told him he was an amazing person. The beast had earned other platitudes and monikers, most negative, inflammatory, but likely true. Nefarious, sinister, vengeful, when necessary – abhorrent and belligerent, cunning and violent, capable of menace, of might, of destruction. Flawed and incapable of getting out of his own head at times, yearning to discern others when he could barely do so for himself. So a quiet muffling of something warred and waged through his chest.“Thank you,” he concluded, shaking his skull, listening to the wind billow around them, to the inevitable ceasing of the sled, because he was suddenly very lost in the haze. “But I can assure you, I am not.” A light laugh, self-deprecating and all, for he had plenty of enemies to prove it. Too many motives. Too many calculations. Too many errors in judgement. Too many fault-lines. And he’d tried, strived to overcome them, but continued to consistently maul his own work.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
