MABEL
Mabel was, fortunately or unfortunately, entirely unaware of the background, behind the scenes drama. Too fresh, too new, she and her sibling hadn’t been privy to any of the ongoing sagas throughout their Ascended family – and perhaps rightfully so. So the only thing she could justify was a widening of her gaze as she watched the slightest play of emotions run through Wessex’s features – sorrow railroaded over with something akin to fury – and if it wasn’t so menacing it might’ve been an awe-inspiring thing to look upon. Her fingers tightened over her sewing needles, a reflex, a habit, absorbing the information: the weight of petty heralds and deities, the pinnacles and triumphs of goddesses.
A question spiraled back to her and she felt slightly more at ease; a minute amount, nothing more, nothing less. She concentrated on ensuing another stitch in the seam of some hat, it looked rather malformed now, something she would’ve made for her brothers or sisters, if they were still alive. Her eyes went back to the Wraith, face utterly devoid of emotion, suppressing, stuffing everything back down. “Evie Wordsworth.” At least it was a Natural again.
A question spiraled back to her and she felt slightly more at ease; a minute amount, nothing more, nothing less. She concentrated on ensuing another stitch in the seam of some hat, it looked rather malformed now, something she would’ve made for her brothers or sisters, if they were still alive. Her eyes went back to the Wraith, face utterly devoid of emotion, suppressing, stuffing everything back down. “Evie Wordsworth.” At least it was a Natural again.
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
