MABEL
A small stick was in her grasp, tugged free of the remnants of its brethren, and then she dug underneath, shifting through snow and powder, another thud and echo to follow. She listened, apt to linger in the fold of her sister’s thoughts, nodding along. “That she’s available,” and anything else the Voice yearned for the world to consider, the vast plains of potential disciples. “That most are worthy of her grace and power,” pondering, mulling and musing out loud, to the drums of nothing but the sounds of winter vestiges around them. It was calming and eerie all at once, rendering them capable of the nuances and ruminations of what to say, what to do, where to traverse, how to sojourn forward. And while Mabel might have preferred to coerce, to obliterate, to do something with her hands, her limbs, her lack of pain – Evelyn’s tactics would’ve been far easier.
“Yes, we tell our story. We let the world hear.” They could shout from the rooftops, the pillars, the auras of the Grounds, so everyone could know, could understand, could fathom how lives benefitted from these alterations. How many others had nearly died out there, underneath the Old Gods’ thumbs? How many hadn’t been noticed? How many had been beneath their heralds’ time, affections, and love? These would be opportunities, chances, and instances to alter and sway minds – especially after LongNight, where no deities could muster any strength, any accord, to fend off the monsters. That should’ve been a hint to the Voice’s powers and might – that even her weakest of experiments, her imperfections, couldn’t be conquered or smited away.
“Yes, we tell our story. We let the world hear.” They could shout from the rooftops, the pillars, the auras of the Grounds, so everyone could know, could understand, could fathom how lives benefitted from these alterations. How many others had nearly died out there, underneath the Old Gods’ thumbs? How many hadn’t been noticed? How many had been beneath their heralds’ time, affections, and love? These would be opportunities, chances, and instances to alter and sway minds – especially after LongNight, where no deities could muster any strength, any accord, to fend off the monsters. That should’ve been a hint to the Voice’s powers and might – that even her weakest of experiments, her imperfections, couldn’t be conquered or smited away.
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
