MABEL
Oh, but what if it was true? What if there was nothing left for her? What if all the roads she’d traversed, scraped across, wandered down, meant absolutely nothing? What if Evelyn wasn’t alive? What then? Would she seek a return to the darkness, to the Voice’s collection of souls, where the anguish wasn’t so heavy, where the pain wasn’t so real? Even if she couldn’t feel the physical weight of it, the emotions were still there – rampant, idle things that convoluted and revolved, churning a burning might in the clarity of her condemned heart.
Her path had been lined with primrose and the thorns stuck in; needles and nettles at every turn. What if she pulled them out and stabbed, mauled, lacerated, and bludgeoned back? The questions drew their breath inside her lungs, begged to be released, and the youth merely stood there, hackles raised, fangs glistening in the touch of shadow and moonlight. How much would it take, to send this fool away? To have the world leave her alone? For the void to rise up and swallow them whole?
The storms were a dull flicker of memory – something fabricated from before. As children, they hadn’t wandered near, despite the angles and wells of curiosity. There were too many other things to do. Too many other actions to tend to. Too many other reassurances and placating measures for things, moments, and instances meant to eventually wither, fade, and die. Her eyes narrowed, a snarl on her lips again, at the implication of her being an Outlander. “I’ve lived here all my life.” Fucker she wanted to add, but left the hiss there to indicate her displeasure.
Just appeared.
Just resurrected.
Just renewed, given life, all in the slip of mercurial whims and dreams.
Her eyes slid away from him, ghosting over his shoulder, towards mounds, hills, dotted and lined with snow. To a world she’d yet to experience. To everything else laying beyond hushed footsteps and her miniscule aspirations. She only glanced back at the fool when he didn’t seem to understand what she meant – not mentioning her Ascension, but the demise, the fall, the tossing and turning of waves. “No. I died.” Did talking about it make it any better?
Did it matter?
Fists clenched at her sides and her shoulders bunched up with tension, rising towards her ears as her jaw mulishly raised itself. “I went to help with a shrine in Torchline and got swept out to sea. And then, very slowly, perished.” Suddenly everything was incensed, aflame, and she didn’t know why this anger was so raw, so reeling, so tempestuous and aching, failing to subside. “The Voice brought us back. Didn’t you hear?” The last lines were mocking, incredulous, derisive, embittered. The Goddess had done what Ludo and Mort hadn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t. And maybe that would make the Attuned quake. Maybe that would make him run and flee.
Her path had been lined with primrose and the thorns stuck in; needles and nettles at every turn. What if she pulled them out and stabbed, mauled, lacerated, and bludgeoned back? The questions drew their breath inside her lungs, begged to be released, and the youth merely stood there, hackles raised, fangs glistening in the touch of shadow and moonlight. How much would it take, to send this fool away? To have the world leave her alone? For the void to rise up and swallow them whole?
The storms were a dull flicker of memory – something fabricated from before. As children, they hadn’t wandered near, despite the angles and wells of curiosity. There were too many other things to do. Too many other actions to tend to. Too many other reassurances and placating measures for things, moments, and instances meant to eventually wither, fade, and die. Her eyes narrowed, a snarl on her lips again, at the implication of her being an Outlander. “I’ve lived here all my life.” Fucker she wanted to add, but left the hiss there to indicate her displeasure.
Just appeared.
Just resurrected.
Just renewed, given life, all in the slip of mercurial whims and dreams.
Her eyes slid away from him, ghosting over his shoulder, towards mounds, hills, dotted and lined with snow. To a world she’d yet to experience. To everything else laying beyond hushed footsteps and her miniscule aspirations. She only glanced back at the fool when he didn’t seem to understand what she meant – not mentioning her Ascension, but the demise, the fall, the tossing and turning of waves. “No. I died.” Did talking about it make it any better?
Did it matter?
Fists clenched at her sides and her shoulders bunched up with tension, rising towards her ears as her jaw mulishly raised itself. “I went to help with a shrine in Torchline and got swept out to sea. And then, very slowly, perished.” Suddenly everything was incensed, aflame, and she didn’t know why this anger was so raw, so reeling, so tempestuous and aching, failing to subside. “The Voice brought us back. Didn’t you hear?” The last lines were mocking, incredulous, derisive, embittered. The Goddess had done what Ludo and Mort hadn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t. And maybe that would make the Attuned quake. Maybe that would make him run and flee.
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
