unburned and alive

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame He took her words at face value, with a generous grin unfolding over his features, a nod to follow suit. Thereafter though, he waited for her to go over everything, a restless sort of inkling parsing through his veins – wanting to solidify, to try, into these newfound angles and parameters. At her inquiry, realizing he’d never fully explained his capabilities with magic, the Sword opted for a demonstration. “I can create the poppy, and the water.” With honey and lemon zest to be additional things considered later, incapable of rendering those within his creation components. Within a moment, in between his palms came a gilded glow, first the vial, plainly designated with no need for grand relish or adornments, then the poppy, wrapped and contorted in earthen incantations, crimson and copied exactly how it’d been detailed in the pages of notes. The water thereafter, pouring within the open glass – and then he glanced towards Ray, waiting – uncertain about the contortions of the mixture, of plying or prying open the buds. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace