dominoes of indiscretions down

KIADA curl your hands into fists, and sharpen your nails. Her icy gaze grows sharper the longer it lingers on the thing within the woods. Her hands clenched, tight enough at first, but progressively tighter as Deimos’ warning, instruction, voice comes across her. She cannot hear the things he hears – no, instead, a rough malformed set of words came crashing toward her; it clamps her heart, the beat stuttering slightly and almost as if the two of them had seen a ghost, she can tell that Deimos freezes when she does. She doesn’t think he hears the same thing as she – no, the man had hardly met the malformed, spotted boy of her childhood (the love of her life) let alone been close enough to him for a reaction such as this. And gods how she yearns for the simpler times. “Keyahdah…” The voice pitches toward her, rumbling in its beautiful deep tones, malformed and strangely worded, but a way that she loves so deeply. It reminds her of home, of him, of easier times where gods simply watched and didn’t put their hands into too many baskets… “Arh ye ahlright?” The voice rumbles toward her again, and she fights the urge to reach into her pockets – to clutch the gift he had given her, along with the handwritten note she can still hear in his voice. A knife pierces her heart. “No.” She wants to say, to scream toward him, but she doesn’t. Her eyes shift toward Deimos, harder now and darker as she fights through the urge. But she knows it isn’t true, he isn’t here and cannot be here a third time. Their timing was never right – it never would be. She inhales sharply and drifts closer to Deimos with eyes that shutter slightly. “Deimos.” She says quietly, almost pleading. She doesn’t want to be here anymore. She doesn’t care what sits beyond the woods. She doesn’t care that they’re there to explore – she wants to go home and wallow more, to find Auni and be assured that everything is alright. She reaches out with a pale hand draped in leather gloves to try and grip onto the Reaper, sighing against her clenched teeth. “We need to go the opposite way, away from it.” She offers quietly, almost like a wounded animal. The Harpy doesn’t wish to remain where she can hear his voice much longer. the next time a man tells you to smile, show him bloodstained teeth.