girls can be dangerous and still win
She searched his face, hers still looming large and eerie, scanning it for amusements or surprise when she had other stories to tell. He seemed to have moved on from days where he’d yell at her for doing asinine things, maybe because he’d learned it would happen regardless, or that he was often an active participant. If there was worry or concern, she didn’t see it, after all, she’d clearly come out the other side, grinning once more when he chuckled instead. “Good. That can be another late-night treat.” When he wasn’t haunting her ass or something.
The Honeybee hadn’t lived through this current tale though, so it was easier to meld and mold characters, bending them to her will and narrative, arching her brows and waiting for Iskra’s reaction. She quite liked the duplicitous means, and couldn’t help a high cackle erupting at his surprise, before taking another sip and granting a smug, cat-like smile. “Yeah. Imagine a shitty, serial killer dad.” Hers had been the former, but she doubted he could’ve been the latter.
The fire dimmed and she waited, drumming her own fingertips her chin and contemplating the salsa arrangement, until the glow beckoned and returned. “Oh, they’re ghosts. Very dead. Bodies buried in the backyard kind of dead.” In case he wasn’t certain. Then she began her story once more, fingers flying over a horde of chips tangled with one another until she pried them loose and snagged at the spicy end of the dip choices. “Violet thought about it. Could she go to authorities? Would it matter? Would anyone believe her? And all the while, the ghosts kept whispering, granting her ideas. Maybe they’d grown cold in their graves too, thinking about revenge.”
Humming a little, then narrowing her eyes when the flare of flavor hit her tongue, she took another quick sip of her drink and shook her head. “So when she thought it was safe, Violet left the house to collect the necessities. Things one only hears about in spells and witchcraft, in whispers and in fables. Perhaps that’d be enough.” Pretending not to cough, she then aimed for a milder salsa.
“It took a while. Several nights went by. But…eventually, she made her way to her father’s home with the tool in hand – something not unlike a golem, poised and mimicked to look like her. Her father was overjoyed to see her effigy home, of course, and Calla nowhere to be found. He took her in immediately, while the real Violet hid.”
The Honeybee hadn’t lived through this current tale though, so it was easier to meld and mold characters, bending them to her will and narrative, arching her brows and waiting for Iskra’s reaction. She quite liked the duplicitous means, and couldn’t help a high cackle erupting at his surprise, before taking another sip and granting a smug, cat-like smile. “Yeah. Imagine a shitty, serial killer dad.” Hers had been the former, but she doubted he could’ve been the latter.
The fire dimmed and she waited, drumming her own fingertips her chin and contemplating the salsa arrangement, until the glow beckoned and returned. “Oh, they’re ghosts. Very dead. Bodies buried in the backyard kind of dead.” In case he wasn’t certain. Then she began her story once more, fingers flying over a horde of chips tangled with one another until she pried them loose and snagged at the spicy end of the dip choices. “Violet thought about it. Could she go to authorities? Would it matter? Would anyone believe her? And all the while, the ghosts kept whispering, granting her ideas. Maybe they’d grown cold in their graves too, thinking about revenge.”
Humming a little, then narrowing her eyes when the flare of flavor hit her tongue, she took another quick sip of her drink and shook her head. “So when she thought it was safe, Violet left the house to collect the necessities. Things one only hears about in spells and witchcraft, in whispers and in fables. Perhaps that’d be enough.” Pretending not to cough, she then aimed for a milder salsa.
“It took a while. Several nights went by. But…eventually, she made her way to her father’s home with the tool in hand – something not unlike a golem, poised and mimicked to look like her. Her father was overjoyed to see her effigy home, of course, and Calla nowhere to be found. He took her in immediately, while the real Violet hid.”
Melita
she knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in
