Fermenting repose stung and clung to the remnants of ice and brine, cluttered unceasingly through the chilling winds and thorny netting, a vexing timbre, a reclusive shoal, a burdensome quandary leaving him with naught to do but wait for an inevitable tear in its serene delusion. A balance of tranquility set him alight with the ever-increasing burden of chaos strung between his coiled muscles or rippling, wrathful strides, sinuously drawing, etching, and sketching out merciless designs and Machiavellian desires, a machine of war, uncertain and brooding amongst the tethering placidity. The borders and all of their dancing, slithering hounds, seething and simmering, set on edge by the wayward fringe, amused him for only snippets of hours, bloodshed forthcoming, mauled, mutilated, forsaken, then gone, as quick as they’d arrived, a mere taste, a slender sliver, of what could have been. As peace trickled and tickled, ran and rambled, he spent wanton hours tearing apart seams of havens and sanctuaries, maneuvered and conspired over sliding chess pieces and lithe pawns, murmured nothingness into the blackening air, uttered pernicious oaths that swayed meticulously across frigid walls and chuckled alongside his cruel, callous presence. Restrained and repressed, taut and rigid, hellbent on annihilation and setting forth with no motivation other than the brutal wiles of a masque of death, he lamented, he plagued, he devoured into the setting sun and the inky twilight, serenading ghosts and phantoms with the iniquitous maelstrom of his unsung sins. Floating into requiems and disaster, the Reaper plunged his scythe into his throne and climbed along its summit, encased in the nonchalant embrace of a potent behemoth. Boldness, barbarity, savage contortions and malicious extortions led him down the pebbled paths and the arched, demonic trails, and with both unyielding, he molded into the mountains, into the scenery, into the treachery and deceit of their all-encompassing peaks, possessing winter and seizing the scars of Orangemoon, cold and indifferent, frustrated and vexed.

The harpooning length of his stare roamed and examined from one fault, one crevasse, one magnificent opus, to the other, before ears swiveled to the brash snort nearby, and his gaze penetrated over the fold of another; Crowley’s daughter, brindled and emblazoned with their signature blades. The youth was intriguing for her actions alone: gnashing, grinding, clenching, demonic in the blinding hours of twilight, slithering into the infidel reign and reach, hushed clamoring of wicked deeds and witching hours. A curious tilt swung to his cranium, a speculative torrent of his mind seared, pondering over the reasons for her flaring tempest, for her banshee, harpy recherché – if it was something he too could exterminate and consume, swallow and devastate, if a beast lingered and begged for their scalding abhorrence. Or perhaps it was a notion he could grasp and pull from her frame, offer and bestow the piercing indulgences of a wayward potency begging for purpose. Her sire bent and swayed towards their preferences, their creed, and by the crude convictions swelling and bolstering her noxious hide, the Lord, the King, the beast, presumed she’d have no trouble following the same infernal decrees. He pursued her from the right, angled into shade, shadow, and veils, nocturnal slips of the evening’s gall, uttered the deep reverberations of his malevolent reverie. “One must have a reason and release for fury.” Deimos paused, ceased his movement while his sharp, keen, penetrating glare became entirely riveted on her (and where her allegiances lay, rooted into loathing, into contempt, into hate?), and the tip of his rapier caught the aurora light, deadly and deleterious in the unholy hymns of their impending conversation. “What is yours?” So while the listless, peaceful stage set across the kingdoms, across horizons and booming from deities, with their cooing mewls and deliberate shards, he gathered more decadent players, fed them lines, and stuffed them with wicked calculations.


@[Rhiannon]