MABEL
“Nothing yet,” she echoed, as if the reverberations told a different story. That she wouldn’t – he’d likely be far more successful than her false venture, that this had been an unprecedented movement and motion, and to beg for it again was almost a farce. But what would stop her from reclaiming a sister? From relinquishing and releasing all her rage, all her fury? LongNight likely stood in the way – survival a more present issue – but after?
After? What then?
Mabel had no inclination of his own trepidation towards her thoughts and pretenses – wasn’t certain if she’d care anyway. She didn’t have a string of haunting individuals, save for her own family. She hadn’t burned any bridges (yet). Some meetings with others had been indifferent. Some meetings with others had been inspiring. Some were forgotten as she waged across the sea, turning and tumbling over, shifting with and where the current took her.
Her eyes went back to the knives imprinted on the page, and she turned it over, scanning. “I wonder why the Old Gods haven’t done it,” she persisted, edged, quelled around the boundaries instead, pondering, wondering, tracing the potential of disaster and ruin. Of stoking, of instigating, simply because she could.
Not strong enough? Not brave enough? Not brazen enough? Indifferent to their own? The possibilities seemed vast and wide and open to the youth, who'd only bloomed beneath the brightened aspects of her Goddess.
After? What then?
Mabel had no inclination of his own trepidation towards her thoughts and pretenses – wasn’t certain if she’d care anyway. She didn’t have a string of haunting individuals, save for her own family. She hadn’t burned any bridges (yet). Some meetings with others had been indifferent. Some meetings with others had been inspiring. Some were forgotten as she waged across the sea, turning and tumbling over, shifting with and where the current took her.
Her eyes went back to the knives imprinted on the page, and she turned it over, scanning. “I wonder why the Old Gods haven’t done it,” she persisted, edged, quelled around the boundaries instead, pondering, wondering, tracing the potential of disaster and ruin. Of stoking, of instigating, simply because she could.
Not strong enough? Not brave enough? Not brazen enough? Indifferent to their own? The possibilities seemed vast and wide and open to the youth, who'd only bloomed beneath the brightened aspects of her Goddess.
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
