All expectations make her heart feel numb
Despite the chaos, the uncertainty, warring and waging upon them, Mabel was calm. In her anger. In her defiance. In her seditious spread of hands and veins and souls. Her pursuits and missions were clear, defined in stark, deep, emboldened lines, in the words she’d placed upon the paper settled on the kitchen table. Maybe it would come sooner, rather than later. Maybe it would come far into the future. There were no other alternatives. It would happen – and that was a semblance of assurance, certainty, she could leave behind, and traverse anew.
At least with the bedlam expanse, the youth was stoic and forbearing in the belief system surrounding LongNight. She’d been amongst them seventeen other times – the Natural inclinations and instincts had already worked into her bones. Once Deepfrost settled in, the world looked out their windows for the glow of the luxure, for the gilded crowns, for the antlers said to keep the monsters at bay.
And while Mabel herself would like to be a feral demon, it would’ve serve any purpose for what they would have to endure in the near future.
She’d sent a note earlier toAzrael via the Artist’s Sanctuary, presuming the young demigod would enjoy the outing, and told Aamu of where she was going, threading her way through thickets and fields, until she could come upon the wide open expanse of long, tall grasses encumbered by snowfall, by the moonlit embrace of their hours. There, with her bucket of apples, in hand, she began to sing.
Light, airy, ethereal, not figments of Mabel, save for another time, another place in childhood, where there were merry things in her life, instead of the multitudes of death, decay, and withering figments.
At least with the bedlam expanse, the youth was stoic and forbearing in the belief system surrounding LongNight. She’d been amongst them seventeen other times – the Natural inclinations and instincts had already worked into her bones. Once Deepfrost settled in, the world looked out their windows for the glow of the luxure, for the gilded crowns, for the antlers said to keep the monsters at bay.
And while Mabel herself would like to be a feral demon, it would’ve serve any purpose for what they would have to endure in the near future.
She’d sent a note earlier to
Light, airy, ethereal, not figments of Mabel, save for another time, another place in childhood, where there were merry things in her life, instead of the multitudes of death, decay, and withering figments.
MABEL
