DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos had received a litany of bad news over a period of years and lifetimes. Deaths. Abandonments. Betrayals. Failures. Losses. They never quite equated to one another, but seethed or tormented in the realm of his chest, over the bones of his ribs, in the anchors of his soul. And there they often stayed, only to be replaced with new ones – and he’d try to find ways back to the surface, angling around so he didn’t drown. Or he’d let himself be consumed, eaten away by the dreadful wakes. The Sword didn’t quite know what to do with these fathoms.
Because the depths weren’t his, but they resounded and hollowed out just the same.
No sooner had the door shut, the wood echoing off of locks, did she begin – a rush of restlessness, his brows furrowing with the turn of frenetic disarray – his entire being striving to maintain a calm, composed reticence. Grounded and certain, when there was nothing to be assured about – an arch to his brow, taking her jacket as her words became forged along the walls. “What do you me-“ not much time? and then his inquiry was cut off anyway.
A very long-suffering sigh filled in the space as the evidence of her latest ventures came to light. The fireplace’s amber highlighted the bump on her stomach, and the weight of her hand on his, indicating, placing it along her stomach, only reiterated the fact that pulsed through the air. He was silent while she explained, his features pressed into their nonchalance – wholly uncertain how to even react. Be proud of her – because motherhood had always been what she wanted even when they always faded from her? Irritated and annoyed – because the timing was so ridiculously bad? Confused – because nothing really made sense? “Remi?” He echoed, piercing gaze narrowing, head tilting on obvious bafflement and bewilderment.
He pulled his hand away, hiding all his discomfort in raising his arms across his chest, though one hand managed to drag its way down his face, over his mouth, as he stared at the wall, and then dropped it downward, not holding the second sigh. “So what does this mean now?” He’d likely be the lone wolf in their insurrection schemes. Perhaps it would be best, better, that way, and the only one who’d come back into the flames was him.
Because the depths weren’t his, but they resounded and hollowed out just the same.
No sooner had the door shut, the wood echoing off of locks, did she begin – a rush of restlessness, his brows furrowing with the turn of frenetic disarray – his entire being striving to maintain a calm, composed reticence. Grounded and certain, when there was nothing to be assured about – an arch to his brow, taking her jacket as her words became forged along the walls. “What do you me-“ not much time? and then his inquiry was cut off anyway.
A very long-suffering sigh filled in the space as the evidence of her latest ventures came to light. The fireplace’s amber highlighted the bump on her stomach, and the weight of her hand on his, indicating, placing it along her stomach, only reiterated the fact that pulsed through the air. He was silent while she explained, his features pressed into their nonchalance – wholly uncertain how to even react. Be proud of her – because motherhood had always been what she wanted even when they always faded from her? Irritated and annoyed – because the timing was so ridiculously bad? Confused – because nothing really made sense? “Remi?” He echoed, piercing gaze narrowing, head tilting on obvious bafflement and bewilderment.
He pulled his hand away, hiding all his discomfort in raising his arms across his chest, though one hand managed to drag its way down his face, over his mouth, as he stared at the wall, and then dropped it downward, not holding the second sigh. “So what does this mean now?” He’d likely be the lone wolf in their insurrection schemes. Perhaps it would be best, better, that way, and the only one who’d come back into the flames was him.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
