MABEL
They were granted more and more information, and she greedily took it in spades – her mind full and still ravenous, an avaricious plunge where before they wouldn’t have been allowed to breathe, to speak, the charters of the Voice. Her features didn’t betray her eagerness, but they still remained in frameworks and sedition, a glorious thought process forming behind her cool eyes. Safehouses and shrines, items, themselves, to tinker with, tasks to complete, renderings due.
Then there were the notions of what the Ascended had already accomplished, and it was a beatific list of potential and power, opening portals so the rest of them could stretch their wings in other lands (and for two girls who’d never seen anything beyond bubbles and the outstretch of a decaying, dying farm – that could’ve been more than enough). They could be weapons, armaments, diplomats, no limitation except what curbed them from the start. Whatever vestiges of a heart chiseled in her heart felt like bursting, felt like flying, felt like grabbing, ripping, and tearing apart the seams.
“We have lived quietly and kindly already,” and here she tilted her head, a bit more deviousness slipping along her mouth, the intertwining of fates and circumstances. “I’ve grown tired of it.”
Choices – an abundance of them now, seeping into skulls and membranes, given life twice over. “Thank you for letting us know. Perhaps, when we see the Voice again, we will have our own path.”
And as for LongNight, she’d let Evelyn answer, their sentiments clear from previous evenings, where they’d spun those webs across eaves, attempting to decipher which lines to take, to cross, to maul, to snag as theirs.
Then there were the notions of what the Ascended had already accomplished, and it was a beatific list of potential and power, opening portals so the rest of them could stretch their wings in other lands (and for two girls who’d never seen anything beyond bubbles and the outstretch of a decaying, dying farm – that could’ve been more than enough). They could be weapons, armaments, diplomats, no limitation except what curbed them from the start. Whatever vestiges of a heart chiseled in her heart felt like bursting, felt like flying, felt like grabbing, ripping, and tearing apart the seams.
“We have lived quietly and kindly already,” and here she tilted her head, a bit more deviousness slipping along her mouth, the intertwining of fates and circumstances. “I’ve grown tired of it.”
Choices – an abundance of them now, seeping into skulls and membranes, given life twice over. “Thank you for letting us know. Perhaps, when we see the Voice again, we will have our own path.”
And as for LongNight, she’d let Evelyn answer, their sentiments clear from previous evenings, where they’d spun those webs across eaves, attempting to decipher which lines to take, to cross, to maul, to snag as theirs.
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
