MABEL
The rock moved, and with it came an open proportion. Greedy, avaricious, curious hands reached, consumed suddenly by the creation before her. Winged, seemingly bludgeoned and hardened by blacksmith entities, but then far greater, far brighter. The youth raised it to her eyes, to seek it out, to be closer, ponder over the wiles, inspect and scrutinize. “Now what do I do with you?” She whispered into the threads of the Spire, as if it would tell her, as if the knowledge might pour into her soul. Drive it into her flesh? Pocket it in her bag? The quandaries compelled and settled, and she waited for a moment – hesitation lingering in between the thresholds of rapacity.
If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see
You will find things that you don't want to see
