.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
Deimos the Reaper master of nothing place, of recoil and grace
“You may,” he declared, listening, studying, only the phantom grace of his eyes maneuvering along the stoic visage; a statue among men, an immoral piece of remorseless flesh among the strong, intrepid, and staunch. Were he a better beast he might have asked if she’d found what she was looking for, her father, or presumed she’d grown in strength and sagacity, gained wisdom through soulful ventures and gliding whims. But he was not – he toyed with machinations, calculations, and measures, sought out wares for his herd, and rarely dabbled in the finer arts of discourse; his tongue still struggled with the capability, with the finesse, to pay tributes and diatribes to those who intrigued, to those who endured his curiosity. He’d rather dive into the throngs of creatures who wanted to live between the walls of snow and ice, who yearned to thrive along the columns of stone and mountains, who relished the taste of perseverance, who claimed it was in their blood, who settled like the rubble, like the ruins, and never let it topple them over. Whether Athena had acquired such nature would remain to be seen – she’d been led astray before, but he’d warrant and grant her a second chance. Some had received more, some had received less; he judged them as he saw fit – by the swagger of their steps, by the specious grandeur of their form, by the masterful shades clinging to their gaze. She’d never betrayed them, had never parceled off secrets to the highest bidder, had never traded away courage for ineptitude; he had no reason to deceive and cast her aside. The Reaper hoped his decision would come to some sort of providence, guidance, or gain, and the femme would find herself besotted with the glaciers again, instead of wandering back into the hillsides, the fog, the mist, or any other beguiling nature – too many had already, enticed and intoxicated by other things, and the Lord had stayed there, rooted into the ground, a piece of slate, a rapture of wrath. “What profession interests you?”
|
@Athenä
