dominoes of indiscretions down

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Deimos walked towards it, inhibitions lost, surrounded and pervaded by the stark, lonely memories gathered in his chest. I can bandage them for you echoed along his mind, and he had no issue with the proclamation, gathering his limbs and unfolding along the boughs, ignoring his own damned commands, following, following, following, eager and waiting to be drowned beneath the canvas of haunted tendrils and poignant leaves. It was home and kingdoms crushed, empires fallen, a lonely riverbank and its overflowing banks coiled behind him, the trickle of brooks beating against his brain; beyond the sight of catacombs and sepulchers, the thoughts of what could have been, the weight of everything and nothing all at once. He breathed and the weight of his warning appeared to be utterly forgotten, struggling to find the owner’s voice, shaking his head as if there were cobwebs collected in it, nestled and stored and struggling to maintain their purpose. What had he been doing again? Had he been chasing her, Huyana, down along the valleys, awaiting the peace and serenity she’d always embodied? When had he been in the woods? Why? Kiada’s voice pierced and punctured at his psyche, and his eyebrows furrowed, mind struggling to adapt to the alteration. It was a plea, it was a quiet, hushed command, it was an appeal from the living when everything else had been damned. His head followed the tune of her vocals, the intonations of long ago, when winter rose and fell, when the frigid mountains cooled against his sides and bade him to continue on, eternity in the rime, coldblooded and self-assured, burning from the inside out with the bane of his life, with the arcane artifices growing across his hide, sword in hand, shield on his back, world at his feet. “Kiada?” He whispered, transposed and transfixed, incapable of working out what came before, lost and lost again, her grip and clenched teeth slipping and sliding along his shoulder, coaxing him back to earth, back to the glade, back to the lands cutting into his soul. “Opposite way,” he nodded, numbed, senseless, still shaking his cranium, beating the doldrums, the throngs, the screams, the whispers away and adrift, struggling to turn even with his friend’s insistence, the rain’s vocals more pronounced, more certain. How did this happen? she asked and he wanted to explode, feet suddenly taking flight, chiseling and sculpting their way, a resistance strangling his hold, reaching out for Kiada to drag her too, away away away, so the echoes died and faded, so her reverberations didn’t keep scarring him, didn’t keep spiriting him into the distance, didn’t fray and bend and make him completely, utterly break. “I am sorry,” he uttered as he kept his strides long and savage, whipping sinister contortions into the hellish abyss. He was sorry he wasn’t stronger. He was sorry for falling for it. He was sorry that Huyana was being used as a weapon against him. He was sorry for so many damned things. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace