MABEL
She didn’t know, not really. The observations had been quick, efficient for the one-track minded goal. And when that hadn’t materialized, when she realized just how vacant, just how broken, just how hollowed out the farm had appeared, even more so than before, the youth flickered off into the dregs of the evening. Mabel had no explanation for it, other than some very human, very fragile, very delicate sentiments, which she kept locked up tight behind the feral regards, the disgruntled proportions, and the renewed livelihood.
Though she wasn’t making much of it, yet.
The concept of the Oasis seemed to inspire naught but refusal – she shrugged, oblivious, indifferent, to the notion of temperatures. Had she been from before, the youth would’ve frozen in the sea well before dissipating entirely – tossed out and out and out from warm embankments until the tide swept and took her into colder, chilling reaches. Her death would’ve been faster. She wouldn’t have had so much time to think. To wonder. To dream.
“There should be,” she offered, mind calculating through whatever remained of her family home. Clearly no one else had sought it as a refuge, and that worried her too (where was her sister?).
And then, she spun around on her heel, willowy, lithe, limber movements returning, the spectral expanse giving rise to the simplest arch of her brow. A challenge, perhaps, to see if he’d follow – and then her strides elongated again, winding along cobblestones on her bare feet, brushing past the crowds that once more gave her a wide berth, marking and chiseling her way through a familiar, well-known path.
Though she wasn’t making much of it, yet.
The concept of the Oasis seemed to inspire naught but refusal – she shrugged, oblivious, indifferent, to the notion of temperatures. Had she been from before, the youth would’ve frozen in the sea well before dissipating entirely – tossed out and out and out from warm embankments until the tide swept and took her into colder, chilling reaches. Her death would’ve been faster. She wouldn’t have had so much time to think. To wonder. To dream.
“There should be,” she offered, mind calculating through whatever remained of her family home. Clearly no one else had sought it as a refuge, and that worried her too (where was her sister?).
And then, she spun around on her heel, willowy, lithe, limber movements returning, the spectral expanse giving rise to the simplest arch of her brow. A challenge, perhaps, to see if he’d follow – and then her strides elongated again, winding along cobblestones on her bare feet, brushing past the crowds that once more gave her a wide berth, marking and chiseling her way through a familiar, well-known path.
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
