DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
Considering she’d just been plotting a potential scheme to maul people’s skin with ivy, he’d take the notions with a grain of salt and a residual arch of his brow. “So I have heard. Something about balance,” from Ray, when plotting sleeping draughts, pretending those weren’t lined up somewhere amid cabinets, never used and likely to stay that way. “Just making sure,” and he wrinkled his nose, mostly to reassure there was trust between them, and that he didn’t have another D’art in his midst. One poison master was enough for multiple lifetimes.
Thereafter though, the archaic weight of a reticent veneer lingered onward even as her grasp came to his wrist – frozen in parallels, lost to the beliefs that still twisted and turned amongst his memories. Wall upon wall threatened to build efficiently, quickly, over the stoicism and clenched jaw, the tightening sway over his held apple, or the taut measures of his spine, drawn inexplicably monolithic, so maybe no one could reach him. Her words rang and jostled with all the other formations of struck corpses and dead best friends and pyres meant to reach the sky, until he blinked several times, trying to track the mist and fog surrounding his skull, and nodding with all the statements. It didn’t mean he believed them, but it was enough for the moment to pass and stretch without him sinking again. It would take much longer to strike or hold true.
A horrible lesson for them all – and now they wandered ever closer to more.
The Sword only moved when she dropped her hand, and it was to crouch amidst the dirt and soil for a moment – plucking away at the seeds of his apple, and burying it in the loam, so that the cycle persisted. It gave him some time to recover too, finding roots in his own measures. “Is there anything else you wanted to see?” came on quieter, rumbling tones, while his hand hovered over the indentation, pulling at air and nothingness until a leaf unfurled.
Thereafter though, the archaic weight of a reticent veneer lingered onward even as her grasp came to his wrist – frozen in parallels, lost to the beliefs that still twisted and turned amongst his memories. Wall upon wall threatened to build efficiently, quickly, over the stoicism and clenched jaw, the tightening sway over his held apple, or the taut measures of his spine, drawn inexplicably monolithic, so maybe no one could reach him. Her words rang and jostled with all the other formations of struck corpses and dead best friends and pyres meant to reach the sky, until he blinked several times, trying to track the mist and fog surrounding his skull, and nodding with all the statements. It didn’t mean he believed them, but it was enough for the moment to pass and stretch without him sinking again. It would take much longer to strike or hold true.
A horrible lesson for them all – and now they wandered ever closer to more.
The Sword only moved when she dropped her hand, and it was to crouch amidst the dirt and soil for a moment – plucking away at the seeds of his apple, and burying it in the loam, so that the cycle persisted. It gave him some time to recover too, finding roots in his own measures. “Is there anything else you wanted to see?” came on quieter, rumbling tones, while his hand hovered over the indentation, pulling at air and nothingness until a leaf unfurled.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
