MABEL
Acceptance here, instead of in the weight of their father’s disapproval, their mother’s arguments (how they couldn’t, wouldn’t Ascend, preferring to die and drift off with Mort, rather than live on for eternity with their children), their siblings’ scared, darkened glances. Mabel saw Wessex as one of those paragon figures, she supposed, tilting her head subtly, as a cat might commit in action and repose; larger than life, something binding the warped, frayed canvases together.
Then they were freed, and she kept Evelyn’s hands in her grasp, staring, listening, trying to keep the clamor of her heart down. Twelve; just twelve of them, ten if they hadn’t Ascended. Something about that was wondrous and terrifying all at once, that there were enough to call a family, but not enough to call an army, a force, against other reckonings and footfalls. Mabel nodded at the insinuation of their Queen and her husband; they’d known that much, had listened to the railings of their parents for hours and days at a time. Maybe it’d been out of fright, terror, the unknown beckoning and clawing. Maybe it’d been out of hatred.
Maybe it didn’t matter any longer, not when their final act of defiance had been to live in the face of death.
To fight back, to display their fangs.
“We were wandering,” she was open and honest for the instance, her eyes briefly glinting towards Evelyn’s, then back again to the Wraith. She had an infinite amount of questions on her tongue, and the first one blurted out on impulse. “How…how long does it take until we can stay in the sun?” Until they could rise at any time of day, until they could challenge the fabric, seams, and stitches of the world?
Then they were freed, and she kept Evelyn’s hands in her grasp, staring, listening, trying to keep the clamor of her heart down. Twelve; just twelve of them, ten if they hadn’t Ascended. Something about that was wondrous and terrifying all at once, that there were enough to call a family, but not enough to call an army, a force, against other reckonings and footfalls. Mabel nodded at the insinuation of their Queen and her husband; they’d known that much, had listened to the railings of their parents for hours and days at a time. Maybe it’d been out of fright, terror, the unknown beckoning and clawing. Maybe it’d been out of hatred.
Maybe it didn’t matter any longer, not when their final act of defiance had been to live in the face of death.
To fight back, to display their fangs.
“We were wandering,” she was open and honest for the instance, her eyes briefly glinting towards Evelyn’s, then back again to the Wraith. She had an infinite amount of questions on her tongue, and the first one blurted out on impulse. “How…how long does it take until we can stay in the sun?” Until they could rise at any time of day, until they could challenge the fabric, seams, and stitches of the world?
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
