D E I M O S
The Reaper fully expected to be ignored; to follow through on the lines of history, cold, icy borders, apathy and neglect, tipping his skull and left to his desolation. It’d be a singular ritual and pattern, stoked in the fibers of reincarnation and resurrection, isolated in the elements of his own making. He wandered forth, only to be ultimately met with surprise as arms suddenly encircled him.
Arms locked, frame somewhat trapped, Deimos looked down to see who’d mistaken him for someone else, only to recognize the depths of ivory - Maea. He wasn’t certain where she’d achieved the gumption and determination to single him out for an embrace – his eyes were still wide in apparent shock, looking around to see if anyone would be willing to free him. “Hello,” he offered instead, naught else to say or utter, before his attention wavered to Lily, before he slithered out of the pale girl’s hold, before he was swarmed again, before astonishment, wonder, and disbelief kept catching him, tethering him to sentiments once more.
Predictions and presumptions had been firmly denied in a space of moments, in a decree of flowers laden in a crown placed upon his head, bright hues blending into the darkness of his frame, piercing eyes sliding over to the perpetrator,
Something pierced him straight in the heart then, and he thought he could recall the name of it, sliding along the tip of his tongue – was it acceptance again? What had he done to earn it this time? Why didn’t they discard him, leave him to his own devices, let him wallow, brood, and brew, stirred into lamentation by the brush of shadows, by the sullen eaves? Everyone else always had.
He swallowed down the exultation, the impish discord reeling back along his skin; but visibly relaxed, eased, instantly comfortable even with a shroud of blossoms encompassing his cranium. The beast didn’t know how to express his gratitude, his appreciation, his thankfulness in simply being in their existences, in their orbits, allowed to partake in the depths of celebration with others rather than apart. He opened his mouth once or twice, but was met with silence – gaze catching on the glimpses of others he knew. He nodded towards Remi, uttered “Thank you,” to
Deimos lost all his reticence then, turned towards the silver-haired man, and laughed. It was a loud roar, vivid and tangible, amused, diverted entirely out of his melancholy. “No need to give her any more ideas.” He’d lose all might and dominion then, with tiny petals woven into his beard. Thereafter, because suddenly he wasn’t so lost and forlorn and damned alone, his stare swept over the grounds again, glancing for particular inhabitants, like
