MABEL
Nothing coiled from the pathways, from the unknown, from the length of snow. An absent-minded, stark void, a world she might have been absorbed within, indifferent to the cold, to the thin clothing upon her back, to the bare feet lodged deeper into the traces. So she walked further, making a trail behind her, somewhere she could return to when she’d ventured enough. She wouldn’t tire. It was just when she’d give in. Give up. Realize Evelyn wasn’t here. Then try somewhere else. Rinse. Repeat. An endless, eternal cycle; driven, driven, driven by the clarity of twin bonds, of the only thing she had left.
Had.
She dismissed the squawk in the tree – had no time for birds, for dusk beacons other than her own.
Only when the raptor shifted entirely into a man did she pause, flicking her harsh gaze upward to the wayward shadows, her senses pinpointed straight upon him. Attuned. In another time, when she’d been a bit stronger, fiercer, not ground away by figments of death, she’d tried her hand at knocking them asunder. Would have done it now, instantly, without any damned piece of regret, if she were armed properly.
Instead, she was fangs in the moonlight. Bared and malicious - reborn - treading in the paths of resurrection.
The youth seemed smart enough to not come down from his bough, and so she continued to stare, a menacing, lithe figure, hoping her eldritch, eerie countenance would make him leave. It seemed to herald the opposite, and she fought off a snarl. “Yes,” she growled instead, and then marched on.
Had.
She dismissed the squawk in the tree – had no time for birds, for dusk beacons other than her own.
Only when the raptor shifted entirely into a man did she pause, flicking her harsh gaze upward to the wayward shadows, her senses pinpointed straight upon him. Attuned. In another time, when she’d been a bit stronger, fiercer, not ground away by figments of death, she’d tried her hand at knocking them asunder. Would have done it now, instantly, without any damned piece of regret, if she were armed properly.
Instead, she was fangs in the moonlight. Bared and malicious - reborn - treading in the paths of resurrection.
The youth seemed smart enough to not come down from his bough, and so she continued to stare, a menacing, lithe figure, hoping her eldritch, eerie countenance would make him leave. It seemed to herald the opposite, and she fought off a snarl. “Yes,” she growled instead, and then marched on.
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
