MABEL
They hadn’t been so isolated from the world that when the Wraith appeared, Mabel could at least hone in on a reaction other than surprise. Their farm had been small, meek, and weak to begin with, livestock on the brink, crops with a few fair seasons before dwindling to almost nothing but barren fields. But Naturals were Naturals, tending to one another before Outlanders arrived, names and faces prominent when one lived within a bubble. Wessex might have known their parents far better, or only seen them and their hoard of siblings scattered across the town. They’d only become more and more secluded, desolate, and stark, when the world churned and burned, opened up.
Mabel wasn’t complaining; just an observation, a rudimentary motion in her eyes as she surveyed Wessex.
She must’ve enjoyed embodying the night, giving forth to the legend of her title. The youth could understand it, the way the veils and shrouds chased and cajoled, the way they now had to walk only amongst its throngs.
But she and Evelyn could do the same, and she drew herself to her full height, the depths of her eyes flickering over Wessex, as much at home in this void. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t forlorn. This was their chance, their opportunity, to run amongst the wolves. Her clear, concise voice moved along the winter air, cold and chilled, measured, uncertain how far to go and where to fly, ensuring she stayed grounded in this moment. “Mabel Occidendum.”
Mabel wasn’t complaining; just an observation, a rudimentary motion in her eyes as she surveyed Wessex.
She must’ve enjoyed embodying the night, giving forth to the legend of her title. The youth could understand it, the way the veils and shrouds chased and cajoled, the way they now had to walk only amongst its throngs.
But she and Evelyn could do the same, and she drew herself to her full height, the depths of her eyes flickering over Wessex, as much at home in this void. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t forlorn. This was their chance, their opportunity, to run amongst the wolves. Her clear, concise voice moved along the winter air, cold and chilled, measured, uncertain how far to go and where to fly, ensuring she stayed grounded in this moment. “Mabel Occidendum.”
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
