[SE] I was hungry

MABEL

Oh, but what if it was true? What if there was nothing left for her? What if all the roads she’d traversed, scraped across, wandered down, meant absolutely nothing? What if Evelyn wasn’t alive? What then? Would she seek a return to the darkness, to the Voice’s collection of souls, where the anguish wasn’t so heavy, where the pain wasn’t so real? Even if she couldn’t feel the physical weight of it, the emotions were still there – rampant, idle things that convoluted and revolved, churning a burning might in the clarity of her condemned heart.

Her path had been lined with primrose and the thorns stuck in; needles and nettles at every turn. What if she pulled them out and stabbed, mauled, lacerated, and bludgeoned back? The questions drew their breath inside her lungs, begged to be released, and the youth merely stood there, hackles raised, fangs glistening in the touch of shadow and moonlight. How much would it take, to send this fool away? To have the world leave her alone? For the void to rise up and swallow them whole?

The storms were a dull flicker of memory – something fabricated from before. As children, they hadn’t wandered near, despite the angles and wells of curiosity. There were too many other things to do. Too many other actions to tend to. Too many other reassurances and placating measures for things, moments, and instances meant to eventually wither, fade, and die. Her eyes narrowed, a snarl on her lips again, at the implication of her being an Outlander. “I’ve lived here all my life.” Fucker she wanted to add, but left the hiss there to indicate her displeasure.

Just appeared.

Just resurrected.

Just renewed, given life, all in the slip of mercurial whims and dreams.

Her eyes slid away from him, ghosting over his shoulder, towards mounds, hills, dotted and lined with snow. To a world she’d yet to experience. To everything else laying beyond hushed footsteps and her miniscule aspirations. She only glanced back at the fool when he didn’t seem to understand what she meant – not mentioning her Ascension, but the demise, the fall, the tossing and turning of waves. “No. I died.” Did talking about it make it any better?

Did it matter?

Fists clenched at her sides and her shoulders bunched up with tension, rising towards her ears as her jaw mulishly raised itself. “I went to help with a shrine in Torchline and got swept out to sea. And then, very slowly, perished.” Suddenly everything was incensed, aflame, and she didn’t know why this anger was so raw, so reeling, so tempestuous and aching, failing to subside. “The Voice brought us back. Didn’t you hear?” The last lines were mocking, incredulous, derisive, embittered. The Goddess had done what Ludo and Mort hadn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t. And maybe that would make the Attuned quake. Maybe that would make him run and flee.

I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out

sacrifice what you are for what you can become

Henry could sense her anger, could see it. Well, actually, she'd been angry the whole entire time - and it had always been obvious. This side of it seemed different, though; bleaker and heavier. As she clarified and snapped and hissed out her story to him, sympathy softened the confused creases on his face. Her hands balled into fists, but, he didn't flinch away. He didn't know if she would hit him and he wouldn't for a second underestimate this rage that roiled inside of her. However, in this moment, this exact moment, he was all she had.

And, no, the Voice doesn't make him quake. If only these were laughing matters, because then he might laugh at such an idea. An Attuned, yes, but if anything he was a traitor to his Gods. He was helping the Voice. Well, he had, anyway. The thought did occur to him that he needed to do much more but, for now... Wessex had turned his focus towards something else. He reflected, for a moment, if that was stupid. If he should be putting more of an effort into this... fight, rather than just proclaiming to support the Ascended. People like this girl... lost, angry, fading into depths beyond measure in spite of the strength they carried in their worried shoulders.. they needed as much help as they could get.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," the words leave him soft, genuine. There's a melancholic tune in his voice, a sadness in his dark eyes. "I haven't heard about that... I've been preparing to go to Torchline for the season, not much time for gossip... I should stay and fight for the Ascended and the Voice, but I don't think it's something I can help them with... not just yet, at least. I'd only slow them down right now," his gaze draws back towards the Sanctuary. Though it may not be visible from these reaches of the Wilds, he knew where it could be found. He'd always know. That was his home, and it pulled him towards it the way a beacon brings lost ships home, like a gravitational pull. Only, he isn't lost and he isn't falling. So he turns his blue eyes back towards her. "There are other things that I have to do," he resolves towards her, taking steps through the snow, "a message to spread, if you will." A long breath comes out through his nose, a sigh to relieve himself of the tension in his mind. "But if you want, I can walk you back to the Grounds. Otherwise, it's that way." He pointed in the direction, just in case she had lost her sense of direction in these winding, searching circles she drove herself mad in.

He continues to walk past her, away from the monolithic hills. He only pauses once, to stand beside her, to set his hand on her shoulder. "She isn't here..." Truth be told, he doesn't know that for certain. But this feels clear to him, anyway, so he steps on. There isn't much else he can do to change her mind or which direction she points her feet.

HENRY

MABEL

She’d like to be some venomous, toxic, poisonous thing, like an asp, capable of springing out and delivering her venom, her vitriol, in tangible amounts. Rather than quaking here, irritated and annoyed at her inabilities, at the facets she couldn’t reach. Couldn’t find her sibling. Couldn’t do anything but weaken and die, while the rest of the world carried on. She’d yearned to carve her wake into the earth, and all she’d done was be spiraled, flung, out into its depths.

She didn’t like the sadness in his eyes. She wanted it to be fear. She wanted to lash out and stagger her rage into something meaningful, something notable, something seen and noticed and heard. Instead, there were piles of nothing at her feet, hidden depths and layers not yet exposed, not yet known, not yet understood. And her sibling was nowhere in sight. She clenched her jaw at the notion of more future fights, because it too was another figment she couldn’t help with.

Too weak. Too brittle. Too fragile.

And she wasn’t certain if she cared about the message he had to spread either. Old God shit? The level of exasperation curled and coiled upon her, threatened behind her tongue, her fangs, her teeth; shaking off his touch through bending away. Willow edges when she wanted to be stiletto-ed fringes – eventually, eventually, eventually, she could promise herself. If she managed to survive.

“I can find my way home.” That last message of his caused a snarl once more, hackles raised, before she stomped back the way she’d come; naught more, naught less.

{FIN}

I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out