Come sit right here and sleep while I slip poison in your ear
What are the mounds for? She thought she knew. Could sense it, in the intermingling of grief not her own. Could feel it, in the molds of a surface dotted and lined, varnished and lacquered, in color. To remember? To cherish? To love? Would her family cherished such a place as their last respite? To rest, before they went to Mort?
And Evelyn, to the Voice?
What did they see, on the other side?
All she could remember was a haze, a fog, a drifting, drifting current. No one gave her these rites, these rituals. Gone before she could be collected. Gone before she could even be remembered, or thought of.
She flapped her wings and drifted, glided, on the cool breeze, on the soft, mulling silhouettes of darkness. The youth wished for something deep in her chest, but burrowed and buried it down, down, down. Why? Why had he come out? For peace? For calm? For serenity?
Mabel didn’t know what any of that was like anymore.
And Evelyn, to the Voice?
What did they see, on the other side?
All she could remember was a haze, a fog, a drifting, drifting current. No one gave her these rites, these rituals. Gone before she could be collected. Gone before she could even be remembered, or thought of.
She flapped her wings and drifted, glided, on the cool breeze, on the soft, mulling silhouettes of darkness. The youth wished for something deep in her chest, but burrowed and buried it down, down, down. Why? Why had he come out? For peace? For calm? For serenity?
Mabel didn’t know what any of that was like anymore.
MABEL
