MABEL
Perhaps Mabel wanted nothing more than to be a monster; to stretch her claws into flesh, to dig her fangs into marrow, to flay the world alive with her unsung fury. Maybe it’d be nothing, this ample, ferocious dream, with its blistering ambitions and burning aspirations, with its mettled arrogance and molded abhorrence. Maybe it’d be everything, and they could carve a new wake from demise and desecration.
Her hands flung the snow around her and she felt nothing; dangerous in its own wake. Nothing to stop them. Nothing to cease their efforts. Nothing but the damned sun and weakness. More wood buried, and then not, unearthed and shoved into the sled, filling, filling, filling.
But then she went rigid, over the thoughts of meeting others, Outlander or otherwise. Was it consternation, apprehension, dread, or nothing at all? She couldn’t describe or name it, brows furrowing, growing quiet in the midnight haze, in the stretch and pull of midnight whims. The newness of everything singed in her blood, churning amidst the new lifeforce, a sharp inhale contorted out of habit, and not need any longer. “If you want,” she proffered with a shrug.
Her hands flung the snow around her and she felt nothing; dangerous in its own wake. Nothing to stop them. Nothing to cease their efforts. Nothing but the damned sun and weakness. More wood buried, and then not, unearthed and shoved into the sled, filling, filling, filling.
But then she went rigid, over the thoughts of meeting others, Outlander or otherwise. Was it consternation, apprehension, dread, or nothing at all? She couldn’t describe or name it, brows furrowing, growing quiet in the midnight haze, in the stretch and pull of midnight whims. The newness of everything singed in her blood, churning amidst the new lifeforce, a sharp inhale contorted out of habit, and not need any longer. “If you want,” she proffered with a shrug.
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
