MABEL
Suddenly there were more and more and more of them; a hustling, bustling crowd. Save for one, an odd man out of the surging march of Ascended, they were all familiar. And something like that, that might’ve ordinarily sent her elsewhere, gave her some semblance of hope – and the slightest, lightest of smiles pressed into her mouth, displayed her fangs, nodding her agreement with Azrael (who’d only grown and grown and grown). Taken by the sleeve towards a designated area, her eyes searched over the pieces again, granting a light nod in the direction of Bastien for his creative efforts and notions. She took hold of one of the base baubles, felt its lightness in her hand, and then several other paint hues and colors.
“What are you going to make?” A question forAzrael, as her head buzzed around for ideas. Creative outlets were not her forte’, and her brush dipped lightly into a hue of deep, everlasting green, intending to begin the path out of the farmhouse’s treelines – like a step towards other utopias.
“What are you going to make?” A question for
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
