MABEL
Perhaps not the most perfected of acts, but they’d attempted nonetheless – Mabel following through on Evelyn’s movements, motions, striving to look like a shy nymph or waif, graceless, unpoised, undignified, their sad, begotten orphaned lot coming through on a tilted head and notes of deference. “The door killed our fellow Ascended,” as if to remind, as if to chisel the moment through toward the newest monarch. Did she look afraid? Did she embody terror? At least some measure of her body must’ve; the unknown, the impending war, the strikes that could be inflicted upon them in the future could curl apprehension, trepidation, and consternation from her features, all the way down to her toes. “What should we do?”
Mabel couldn’t exactly match the crying, so she went for her sister’s shoulder, maneuvering her arms over her twin, enacting a hug, an embrace, to parallel fears and comforts. “We just lost our parents and siblings.” Would they lose everything else too?
No, Mabel would make sure of it. But Evie wouldn’t know that.
Mabel couldn’t exactly match the crying, so she went for her sister’s shoulder, maneuvering her arms over her twin, enacting a hug, an embrace, to parallel fears and comforts. “We just lost our parents and siblings.” Would they lose everything else too?
No, Mabel would make sure of it. But Evie wouldn’t know that.
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
