A lesser creature would have bent their crowns, stared upon the seams of the ground, to listen to their augured rejection, to their pending dismissal, but the Reaper was no coward. He remained resolute, fierce and incensed, staring into the showers of her grandeur, of her splendor, awaiting the fate of additional abandonment, driving perilous clarity into his innate enmity, rendering himself capable of hearing termination sown by angelic words. Left to another’s power, to another’s strength, unwound, unfurled, sliding and slipping into the wake of her writhing, ghostly calculations, immersed in the illustrious boughs of her seraphic, silken steps, of her chaste countenance, of the bewitching ribbons she’d wound around his throat. He’d willingly twined the dulcet essence across his neck, smothering, strangling, imbibing tremulous desires, tarnishing brooding longings, severing indifferences, entangling the sumptuous, slender reverie of a satanic pulse. He’d opened up the perils of inveigling, bestowed her calculations, her ruminations, her sentiments to the alluring, rapacious abhorrence, to the chilling, glacial indifference, allowed her to see past the walls, past the violence, past the arcane calamity and the Stygian mayhem. He’d bore his blighted, ignited soul into the mass of her divinity, pulled off the diabolical armor, the lethal, malignant detachment, the audacious meld and mold of his Mephistophelean finery. The acerbic caresses of the devil, the mordant embrace of his scythe, the scalding laceration cursing fragility into his bestial damnation, into Lucifer’s majestic creation, feasted on his overwhelmed, inane beckoning, demands and commands. Everything in his power, in his precision, in his prowess and pernicious existence was laid out before her, for her, granted, conceded, endowed. Only when she fixated upon his gift, on the glistening gem that offered so many more unsung promises, might, devotions and convictions, did he settle a rigid breath into the pouring rain, allow himself to become soaked, slithering in her corporeality. He almost laughed, smiled, in relief, consolation, and reassurance, for even amongst the haughty nonchalance, the acrimonious apathy, the stinging, beating nettle of callous terror, of taciturn credence, she still favored him. The nymph ignored his deplorable aims, his trenchant enticements, his muted, clawing havoc, his formidable malice, his bitter menace, and gave him the opportunity to be graced, wanted, needed, saved. A chance to remember what it was like to be cherished, beloved, and adored. Before her words conveyed any acceptance, her eyes rendered the message for him. Yes.

Deimos deserved nothing from her, not a wisp of her salvation, not a kiss of her forgiveness, not a single breath courted from her lungs. He was fury, ferocity and the cold, chilling depths of malignant aspirations, ruthless, ravenous augur of remorseless beings, and she was so much more than him, awakened by the mist, by the abyss, by the torn webs of all the seams he’d plucked, ruined and scarred. She stitched worn tapestries back together, she untied frail, besotted knots, she untangled the violence of all their sardonic, derisory insouciance, and would forever be better than his deadly enchantments, his horrible, decadent ruin, his gnarled, treacherous deliberations.

But she touched him, and the Reaper ignited. He forgot the etchings of nonchalance, the cruel fixation of reticence, the imperial dominion of recherché, and felt once more – the arching, the sliding, the beating of her beatific finery, the turbulent desires gripping, grasping, tearing and ripping against the heady doldrums within his mind. Was it madness, to be overwhelmed by such a saintly creature, to be devoured by her opulence, by her grandeur, by her splendor, to be willingly swallowed, consumed, by her drenched embrace? The feral, sultry whims besotted the framework of the beast’s heathenous, capricious faults, Satan indulged him in all the smoking, burning chords, in all the possessive, violent, devastating requiems, and still, he fell to this girl, clambered for her touch, for her acceptance, for her belief, faith and trust. Deimos shuddered, quivered, poured undulation into each vessel, muscle, flesh she caressed, entombed the memory of its virtue, captured the arch, the fervor, ardor, vehemence, committed it to images, to passion, to fervency, to portentous yearnings. Lips wove over his spine, dipped and glided across sinned skin, forgoing the burden of all his iniquities, of all his immoralities, tossing them aside with no inclination of her loathing for their conceited, savage, nefarious prose, for the actions they’d committed, for the wrongs they’d unleashed. She sank into his skin and built shelter, sanctuary, solace there, drank from his sedition, preyed from his insurrection, beat a steady crescendo across his withered heart, and he possessed all the motions, all the elegance, all the grace for himself. Willingly sieged by her serenity, contained and annihilated by her tranquility, sculpted and reborn in the outstretched arms of her composure. Touch and tension seethed and smoldered, burned and sweltered, fed all the ferocity, all the compassion, all the distorted intensity and rousing of his cravings, yearning frictions, and as his title sidled from her mouth, caught in the silvern webbing of his hide, he drank the delicacy of the herald, the hold she had over him. Turning into her body, shivering as her voice haunted his ears, coated his cranium, danced over his crown, he indulged, carved, sculpted and molded the lacquer, the designs, of his cretin cravings and devilish desires.

His mouth dragged over her shoulder, teeth drawn to sketch over sinew, the lithe, willowy, soft blue hue of the dawn, consumed, hankered, wanted and lusted to drive himself deeper into her veins, to encompass the savagery, the severity, the potency of his vehement intensity, to unravel and annihilate; but she, in so many ardent ways, would likely only allow it to scald her figure. Infused, the sultry clamor of his jaw spoke silent, carnal rhythms into her body, whispered into her skin, offered all the wishes, all the ambitions, desires and longing stirred within her, laced the muted adorations, the carnivore amore, of his bestial, behemoth convictions upon her chest, across her nape. Drunk on audacity, sultry, he slipped the hushed opus of his enflamed anarchy, the bedlam recoil, the immoral flesh of his rigorous control, along her ear, brushed, lightly, delicately, phantasmal, wraithlike, dangerous, ethereal intoxication across its shell, upon its rim. The heinous breath of his virile predilection seared and smoldered, ghostly kisses, demonic caresses, unholy, licentious songs burning across his tongue, tracing the outline of her reverence, of her beneficence, with the ardor of his salacious inclinations, his sumptuous satiation. It followed the course and canvas of her spine, haunted the dainty, intricate lines, the wispy, exquisite beauty, the strength and dominion, rue and restoration. Piercing eyes closed and lips committed the fine resolution of her skin to memory, devoured and drowned the sentiments of reminiscence, pursued each turn and twist of her dulcet hide, of her whimsical deliverance, of salvation painted in water. He swiveled over her hips, tugged at their silken boundaries, caressed thigh and outlined her hind with a wild, savage candor, left nothing of her flesh untouched, left nothing of her flesh not his own, puissant and pernicious, possessing the sharp shift of her motions and the passionate undulations of their allure, temptations and pinnacle; culmination and genesis of his rapacious endeavors, of her poignant blessings; a hollowed heart’s unwinding maelstrom caught in the rain.

Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.