Come sit right here and sleep while I slip poison in your ear
Maybe the experiments, the monsters had been different in Aamu’s time. Before three hundred years cast them apart, before jealousy and envy cut into their clawing hands and ministrations. Her thoughts embarked towards experiences in the latter years, when Outlanders had arrived with ideals and strategies, with doors, with efforts to maintain either a semblance of peace or provocation.
Mabel wasn’t sad for the fiends.
Mabel wasn’t sad for those foolish enough to try something else, when the Naturals had always known how to survive.
Mabel was only acutely aware of the sorrow and tragedy coiling into the air, and had no means or measures to stop it. The youth’s frustration lay solely in how everything had been orchestrated and done in – high risk for low rewards. They were more than inconvenient. They murdered. Truth be told – it had always been the idiots dumb enough to try and evade, capture, contort, or not listen. They tried to take upgrades.. There was no fear embedded in her words, but the truth and heart of the matter. Strike deals.
In the end though, it didn’t really matter.
The last question, the slide of the hiss, made her maneuver away from the puddle once more, heralding more towards a patch of thickened clover. How her parents would’ve loved these fertile fields. One who has lost the point.
Mabel wasn’t sad for the fiends.
Mabel wasn’t sad for those foolish enough to try something else, when the Naturals had always known how to survive.
Mabel was only acutely aware of the sorrow and tragedy coiling into the air, and had no means or measures to stop it. The youth’s frustration lay solely in how everything had been orchestrated and done in – high risk for low rewards. They were more than inconvenient. They murdered. Truth be told – it had always been the idiots dumb enough to try and evade, capture, contort, or not listen. They tried to take upgrades.. There was no fear embedded in her words, but the truth and heart of the matter. Strike deals.
In the end though, it didn’t really matter.
The last question, the slide of the hiss, made her maneuver away from the puddle once more, heralding more towards a patch of thickened clover. How her parents would’ve loved these fertile fields. One who has lost the point.
MABEL
