All expectations make her heart feel numb
She laughed – couldn’t help it – as he pressed and hissed about the Old Gods. Something she could do, spiteful and petty, harsh and grating, an unwinding bout of giggles that were both mercurial and eldritch; belonging to eerie sentiments and enigmatic plunges. Mabel could relish in the toxins, in the venom, in the poisonous promenade, listening to it bound and glisten against the fog, within the abyss. Theirs to have for the moment. Theirs to stomp and grate and wound within. “Or to be cursed,” she relinquished ultimately, with a shrug of her shoulders.
Perhaps they could cease and desist there about the Voice though – both in agreement. They needed her because of their elements, their chosen dispositions, their reasoning for aligning with the brightened segments, of giving and granting their souls over for a higher purpose. She glanced at him, from the corner of her piercing eyes, wondering why the admission seemed to take so much.
But it wasn’t her place.
Perhaps they could cease and desist there about the Voice though – both in agreement. They needed her because of their elements, their chosen dispositions, their reasoning for aligning with the brightened segments, of giving and granting their souls over for a higher purpose. She glanced at him, from the corner of her piercing eyes, wondering why the admission seemed to take so much.
But it wasn’t her place.
MABEL
