MABEL
At her heart, blackened and wretched as it was, Mabel was a survivor. Compelled in each and every direction to entangle her way through another day, another hour, another minute. Picking up a knife, drawing a bow, had just been pieces and proportions of what she was willing to do. She fought for her own sake, and maybe occasionally another’s; selfish and mercenary, grasping and acquisitive, covetous for yielding precipices that allowed, permitted her, to live.
If her voice was cold, then so be it. “I think I want to do this on my own, anyway.” Her vengeance. Her revenge. Her rebuttal. Hers to take and take and take, bloodied on the cobblestones, on the shrieks of war billowing behind their ears.
But then he was moving towards her, and they were embarking on those steps again – where he offered and she grasped, and had nothing to give him in return. Her eyes went to the scar she’d left behind, damned and due to leave another pressed across it; flicking her damned gaze back up to his. Their terms - she almost laughed. No monsters in the dark. No reeling catastrophe setting them into motion – merely impulse, merely desire.
How silly pooled across her mind, but she acted on them anyway. “Of course I meant it,” she sauntered forward with that same defiant angle of her chin, hands reaching for his. But no clutching, no grasping, no intertwining of fingers – merely lifting his wrist up to her mouth, and plunging her teeth across flesh once more.
If her voice was cold, then so be it. “I think I want to do this on my own, anyway.” Her vengeance. Her revenge. Her rebuttal. Hers to take and take and take, bloodied on the cobblestones, on the shrieks of war billowing behind their ears.
But then he was moving towards her, and they were embarking on those steps again – where he offered and she grasped, and had nothing to give him in return. Her eyes went to the scar she’d left behind, damned and due to leave another pressed across it; flicking her damned gaze back up to his. Their terms - she almost laughed. No monsters in the dark. No reeling catastrophe setting them into motion – merely impulse, merely desire.
How silly pooled across her mind, but she acted on them anyway. “Of course I meant it,” she sauntered forward with that same defiant angle of her chin, hands reaching for his. But no clutching, no grasping, no intertwining of fingers – merely lifting his wrist up to her mouth, and plunging her teeth across flesh once more.
Let's go to war to make peace
Let's be cold to create heat
Let's be cold to create heat
