DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
The kettle whistled and he listened all the while, picking up on pieces left unsaid, the notions of Mildew having been around that long. Perhaps she’d gained immortality along the way, and seemed far more understanding of the plight surfacing, circling, and hovering around them. Taking the uneven cup, he extended a modicum of gratitude, “Thank you,” before placing it in between his hands, mind already brimming over with inquiries. “Were you around then, before the last war?” His eyes narrowed, pondering if she’d been involved in the multitudes, if she’d seen and worked out the patterns already constricting, confining, and binding them all. “I do not relish the thought of their demise.” Especially a choice few; eyes cast downward, considering the tea. At one point he’d been a part of Kiada’s family. Was he still? Or had she cast him aside with the last words shared? His jaw clenched habitually, routinely, biting and fighting back a lot of things unsaid in furrowed brows and quiet efforts. “But I have seen the Voice spread disease and death.” Surely Mildew had too – in all this time.
His gaze lifted back up to her, a very slight tilt to his head in the lightest figments of confusion, as her statement continued. Deimos was no fool, fully aware of all his defects and weaknesses, and the list was quite long. On a self-deprecating laugh, he shook his head. “There are many.” Not in the physical, but certainly emotional parameters and realms. “A difficult time communicating,” and here was a snort to follow through, stare circumventing back to the cup. “I have been told I am selfless to my own detriment,” and he shrugged his shoulders – cringing inwardly, the rapid-fire of memories threatening to stir. “Resistant to change.” He could go on and on, but that was likely already too much. “I have been working on them – but I am not certain how you can help.” Or what “things” could, or would, materialize for such matters.
Unite and spread the heart apart
