MABEL
The wealth and gale of her amusement contorted in the antagonistic prose and poise of her smirk; a raw snicker bounding along the sacred plain. What would the poor Old God followers do when they found their useless relics destroyed? What would they hold onto when pieces had been shorn and value had been noted? Noticed? Far, far gone and away? When would they realize only the Voice could grant them absolution – not the dirty, rotten, useless, inept hands of their heralds, of their paragons who ignored them? Who turned a blind eye to deaths of their own?
Who never bothered to care?
Her hands wrapped around a heavy one, and she laughed as she hurled it towards her sister, a massive throw – if it was caught, then she could shoot it to the ceiling. If it wasn’t, then what did it matter, when they smashed into smithereens?
Who never bothered to care?
Her hands wrapped around a heavy one, and she laughed as she hurled it towards her sister, a massive throw – if it was caught, then she could shoot it to the ceiling. If it wasn’t, then what did it matter, when they smashed into smithereens?
I bare my teeth
and stretch my claws out
and stretch my claws out
