MABEL
Her eyes barely drifted back to him, a snort of disdain and derision echoing from her place in front of the bookshelf, fingers shoving tomes out of her way, searching for something of value, of worth. She wasn’t here to entertain him, nor was anyone else; better things to do than wander into Arlo’s midst and listen to him whine. LongNight wasn’t in place to have a good time anyway – she could recall being cooped up, encircled around the middle of their home, quietly, painstakingly, wishing the days would drift by, as the darkness rattled chains and locks, as the wind howled, as the demons were set loose upon them all. Her eyes eventually wound their way back to him, briefly, as if she were surveying a small pebble, a stone. “No imagination?” Then the cold gaze swept back to the books, parsing and resorting the ones she’d dismantled.
Ignorance certainly wasn’t bliss in this stature, and while her cool demeanor cast and shed off the trepidation, the apprehension, that might’ve coiled into the void, Outlanders had a knack for not listening to anything Naturals said. How many times had doors been opened already for this interval? How many times did they go wandering out, expecting something different, for them to be able to change, shift, and alter things for the better? And if it were all so easy to stay within, why hadn’t they?
Because the demons, the infidels, the creatures outside knew exactly how to pinpoint and reach, how to enact siren swells and dubious transgressions, how to lead all of their victims to the slaughter.
Something Mabel admired, really. They were called imperfections of the Voice, but to her, they were awe-inspiring weapons.
Voicing none of those sentiments, her icy demeanor continued, persisted, in searching for a book. “The monsters know how to trick and deceive.”
Ignorance certainly wasn’t bliss in this stature, and while her cool demeanor cast and shed off the trepidation, the apprehension, that might’ve coiled into the void, Outlanders had a knack for not listening to anything Naturals said. How many times had doors been opened already for this interval? How many times did they go wandering out, expecting something different, for them to be able to change, shift, and alter things for the better? And if it were all so easy to stay within, why hadn’t they?
Because the demons, the infidels, the creatures outside knew exactly how to pinpoint and reach, how to enact siren swells and dubious transgressions, how to lead all of their victims to the slaughter.
Something Mabel admired, really. They were called imperfections of the Voice, but to her, they were awe-inspiring weapons.
Voicing none of those sentiments, her icy demeanor continued, persisted, in searching for a book. “The monsters know how to trick and deceive.”
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
