MABEL
She expected him and didn’t all at once, a simultaneous pinpoint she couldn’t quite fathom. Not quick enough to recover her dagger, it fluidly melded into his grasp, and she was left mid-stride, angled and defiant, chin raised. It was a measure of sedition he didn’t necessarily earn or have any right to see, bear, or coax from her; an unfortune lining of her jaw rolling, clenching, to whittle away the other emotions.
Mabel didn’t ask him why he was here either – not when everything felt like a ghost. Perhaps he was revisiting worlds left behind and forgotten. Maybe he knew those who’d once lived here, carved these streets, and then left them abandoned. It likely didn’t matter. The hollow chambers of her heart reminded her of that, quickly, swiftly, a lurch in the system, in the ichor, in the hold and sway she had over the earth. Nothing much made sense to her any longer; a stray, set to wander until she’d sculpted her justice.
“Wessex came to see me,” by way of explanation, stepping forward, her voice not a whisper but a low growl. She stretched out her hand, asking for the stiletto without another word, too irritated, too annoyed, too heartbroken, too absorbed right back to where she’d started. “Said Evelyn was dead.” If her bottom lip trembled, she didn’t acknowledge it. Aamu had a right to know that the only other occupant that would’ve been in those forlorn roosts wouldn’t be coming home. “Murdered.”
Mabel didn’t ask him why he was here either – not when everything felt like a ghost. Perhaps he was revisiting worlds left behind and forgotten. Maybe he knew those who’d once lived here, carved these streets, and then left them abandoned. It likely didn’t matter. The hollow chambers of her heart reminded her of that, quickly, swiftly, a lurch in the system, in the ichor, in the hold and sway she had over the earth. Nothing much made sense to her any longer; a stray, set to wander until she’d sculpted her justice.
“Wessex came to see me,” by way of explanation, stepping forward, her voice not a whisper but a low growl. She stretched out her hand, asking for the stiletto without another word, too irritated, too annoyed, too heartbroken, too absorbed right back to where she’d started. “Said Evelyn was dead.” If her bottom lip trembled, she didn’t acknowledge it. Aamu had a right to know that the only other occupant that would’ve been in those forlorn roosts wouldn’t be coming home. “Murdered.”
If you dig under my feet
You will find things that you don't want to see
You will find things that you don't want to see
