MABEL
“Off.” Her eyes turned towards the aforementioned hills, the quirk of her brow arching, lilting, staring out over the horizon. “In what way?” Mountains of monuments – something buried, lurking underneath? Out of indifference, she wandered in that direction too, closer and closer, the cold not touching her bones, the chill not rankling her sides. Alive and ethereal and otherworldly, touches and scorches of disaster and ruin; maybe more of the mayhem the Voice wanted but never told to the earth. Just scattered her components her people, her lifelines, over the void and watched them flicker into the light.
At his notice of the fluid bleeding out from her skin, she glanced down, then shrugged. “It’s fine.” She could replenish them later. Or wait.
But when did she ever wait?
Nor could she fathom why he’d been worried, not when she wasn’t. Not when there were a hundred other things to nestle within instead of the nettles and thorns. Not when Evelyn was out there somewhere, maybe, and the only figments she had going for her were damned hills rising out of the ground. And even then, they seemed like paltry, trivial measures.
Then Mabel went very, very rigid at the next question. It was like something, someone, had pulled at her spine and contorted the mechanics into straight lines. Memories not so vivid, some washed and varnished away; throwing things at Old God worshippers within the Temple, then going to Torchline to help.
To die.
She didn’t turn towards him, but continued walking, pushing sentiments down, down, down; a fluttering, rising panic beginning in her chest. “Before I went to Torchline and got swept out to sea. In the Grounds. The Temple.” Her head shook and she bit down, a clenched jaw, palms curling into fists at her sides. “But I already looked there.”
At his notice of the fluid bleeding out from her skin, she glanced down, then shrugged. “It’s fine.” She could replenish them later. Or wait.
But when did she ever wait?
Nor could she fathom why he’d been worried, not when she wasn’t. Not when there were a hundred other things to nestle within instead of the nettles and thorns. Not when Evelyn was out there somewhere, maybe, and the only figments she had going for her were damned hills rising out of the ground. And even then, they seemed like paltry, trivial measures.
Then Mabel went very, very rigid at the next question. It was like something, someone, had pulled at her spine and contorted the mechanics into straight lines. Memories not so vivid, some washed and varnished away; throwing things at Old God worshippers within the Temple, then going to Torchline to help.
To die.
She didn’t turn towards him, but continued walking, pushing sentiments down, down, down; a fluttering, rising panic beginning in her chest. “Before I went to Torchline and got swept out to sea. In the Grounds. The Temple.” Her head shook and she bit down, a clenched jaw, palms curling into fists at her sides. “But I already looked there.”
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
