MABEL
She was tempted to ask him where he’d learned all of this. What he’d done in previous wars, when he’d been called up to defend things and materials, when it hadn’t been a cycle all over again. If this footwork, or the flicking of a wrist, was such a residual, inherent thing that it required no thought; and if she could be like that too. If she could lunge into the void and howl at the moon and maul those who’d wronged her.
But she didn’t – taking it all in, absorbing, piercing away from the intrusive notions, and heaving a breath she didn’t require. The snicker in the corner of her mouth on the echo drove in deeper though, and she advanced several steps on his request – witnessing his next volley. Better and better still.
That was how they were going to be – ashes into cinders. Cinders into embers. Embers into flames. Flames into infernos. Engulfing, swallowing, and consuming the world around them.
Her hand went to the hilt again, winding along her arm, remembering the orchestrated movements, practicing the way her fingertips played across the unfurled steel. It’d yet to break under the strain they’d given it, despite it not being manifested for this sort of ritual, this sort of precision, might, and prowess. It would suit its purpose though, and she could imagine the carving, the sculpting, of vengeance from its metal; through sentiments, through ruminations, through barely-veiled hatred for those who damned and threatened them.
Then she hurled it, a flick, a trace, of it singing through the air once more – and a vibrant thunk, higher and higher, resounded, reverberated, in the silent stokings of a smirk. In the quiet, between fangs and shadows, no words necessary as she pulled it out, glancing expectedly up at him.
But she didn’t – taking it all in, absorbing, piercing away from the intrusive notions, and heaving a breath she didn’t require. The snicker in the corner of her mouth on the echo drove in deeper though, and she advanced several steps on his request – witnessing his next volley. Better and better still.
That was how they were going to be – ashes into cinders. Cinders into embers. Embers into flames. Flames into infernos. Engulfing, swallowing, and consuming the world around them.
Her hand went to the hilt again, winding along her arm, remembering the orchestrated movements, practicing the way her fingertips played across the unfurled steel. It’d yet to break under the strain they’d given it, despite it not being manifested for this sort of ritual, this sort of precision, might, and prowess. It would suit its purpose though, and she could imagine the carving, the sculpting, of vengeance from its metal; through sentiments, through ruminations, through barely-veiled hatred for those who damned and threatened them.
Then she hurled it, a flick, a trace, of it singing through the air once more – and a vibrant thunk, higher and higher, resounded, reverberated, in the silent stokings of a smirk. In the quiet, between fangs and shadows, no words necessary as she pulled it out, glancing expectedly up at him.
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
