MABEL
Aamu managed to raise her out of the doldrums of staying contained in her house all day; and very rarely had she wandered towards the Artist’s Sanctuary. She wasn’t creative by any stretch of the imagination; skills had been employed and implemented for farm work, for calloused hands, and not quick brushstrokes, not works of talent or disposition. The hesitation in entering the place was likely evident by her features, an arch of a brow at the curiosity of colors, of hues blending over and over on various backdrops and sceneries – widening the more she stared and looked.
“Hello,” she prospered towards Bastien – instinctively looking for Azrael, though the last time she’d seen them had been around LongNight. Then she glanced at the wares, the options, churning probabilities in her mind, uncertain in how to go about creating or contorting a bauble, a trinket, for the bizarre tree. Instead, she presumed to ask the master artist, her head tilted downward, seemingly overwhelmed. “What do you recommend?”
“Hello,” she prospered towards Bastien – instinctively looking for Azrael, though the last time she’d seen them had been around LongNight. Then she glanced at the wares, the options, churning probabilities in her mind, uncertain in how to go about creating or contorting a bauble, a trinket, for the bizarre tree. Instead, she presumed to ask the master artist, her head tilted downward, seemingly overwhelmed. “What do you recommend?”
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
