Aides is inclined to agree. Her kind does not die, but deathlessness makes room for other kinds of painful eternity. She would prefer the cold.
“It is… A pity. About your tongue.” She moves closer to Critter, stepping past a crumpled wooden cross, a toppled headstone. “Some things… Must be lost. Always. On the journey.” Standing over her, she stops. “Perhaps… You pay for passage.”
She stoops–very low–and reaches unerringly for the black beetle tangled in the dirty locks of Critter’s hair. Plucking it out, she straightens again. Safe on the field of her palm, the beetle gathers itself, darts over the crest of her hand, scrambles for balance, pauses, unfolds the fragile membranes of its wings, and flies away.
“Where will you go?” she asks Critter, looking in the direction of the beetle’s flight. “Will you seek… The ones that buried you?”
Critter cocks her head, watching the beetle flutter off into the night. She wishes she had that kind of single-minded certainty, heading straight into the dark.
❝That’d be the most logical thing, huh?❞ Where’d she been last? It’s hazy, clouded by the mud, but she’s remembering a dusty town. A robbery gone bad. Blood blooming on her stomach. The distinct feeling of: Oh, fuck. Not again.
She touches her stomach and feels the fabric stiff where the blood’s dried. She’ll need a change. Or a wash.
❝Should probably, uh--thank them, I reckon? I mean, it wasn’t necessary--actually kinds makes things a bit harder--but, y’know... it’s the thought that counts, I guess.❞
It takes her a moment to remember she just climbed out of a grave.
❝Or--wait. No. That’ll probably just scare ‘em. Nope.❞
origamiaround
janainaart
theartofmadeline
areudirty
dededos
