DEIMOS
the ocean does not apologize for its depth
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Deimos had never believed Bastien to be insecure in his entire life, and the notions made his brows furrow, either with anger or irritation, probably somewhere in between. “Perhaps you can continue it then,” he offered instead, trying, with great difficulty, not to fall into disgruntled or peeved parallels again. It was easy to be sullen and brooding, to fall deep into those traps of emotions, and he strived to pour his concentration elsewhere.
While Darkeye tossed the liquor into the fire, with Zuriel snorting and Belial watching with the troubling combination of glee and mischief, the Sword tended to the chocolates. Thereafter, they could work almost like an assembly line, and he adhered to the temperatures, controlling, contorting, and bending the elements in a natural ease, as the others were placed into the frameworks.
Eventually, he began to pull them out, one by one, popping them from the vessel and container. Several became adorned in a makeshift pile, containing lanterns, skulls, and toys – but then he began on the ones created to represent those he’d lost. “I made some for those that match my lanterns too,” and he pointed out the sun, for the Penumbra, a cloud for Huyana’s rain showers, a deer for Kiada (even if she was alive), flames for his father, water for his mother, and scores of others that were gone. “Do you want any to represent yours?” Uncertain if the man had made any lanterns for the coming festival.
While Darkeye tossed the liquor into the fire, with Zuriel snorting and Belial watching with the troubling combination of glee and mischief, the Sword tended to the chocolates. Thereafter, they could work almost like an assembly line, and he adhered to the temperatures, controlling, contorting, and bending the elements in a natural ease, as the others were placed into the frameworks.
Eventually, he began to pull them out, one by one, popping them from the vessel and container. Several became adorned in a makeshift pile, containing lanterns, skulls, and toys – but then he began on the ones created to represent those he’d lost. “I made some for those that match my lanterns too,” and he pointed out the sun, for the Penumbra, a cloud for Huyana’s rain showers, a deer for Kiada (even if she was alive), flames for his father, water for his mother, and scores of others that were gone. “Do you want any to represent yours?” Uncertain if the man had made any lanterns for the coming festival.
for the space they take
and so, neither shall I
and so, neither shall I
