Saturday stretches her arms over her head, walking along in the twilight. Guts is a familiar presence at her side, quiet and watchful. The sun shimmers on the horizon, a dying candle in a pool of wax. The night is drawing down behind them, soft as a bruise and speckled with stars. In a moment, it will be dark. But for now, their shadows stretch out long before them, crossing the last rays of the sun streaming through tents and stalls like the fingers of God.
It feels good. Good like nothing’s felt, recently. There’s a steady, satisfied ache in her legs from walking all day. She’s eaten her fill, she can afford a warm bed tonight, and the heavy purse at her side promises that won’t change anytime soon. Guts had helped her buy supplies for camping, and was going to show her how to use them. She could ask for more - she could ask to be home, for real, or at least to let home know she was okay - but…
She stops in her tracks and smiles up at Guts, suddenly understanding the warm feeling that’s been enveloping her. It’s happiness. The real kind, that sinks into your bones and makes them strong. She’d almost forgotten.
“Hey. You know what? It’s been a pretty good day.”
Open to All
Her nose itches. She’s crouched under the wreckage of a jewelry stall, surrounded by a fortune in magical gems winking in the dark, and her damn nose itches. The horrible thing is still outside, stalking. It knows she’s in this pile somewhere. All she can do is stay as still as she can, and hope it gets distracted, and then she can, can -
Can do what, exactly? The wound in her leg aches coldly. The fucking thing had tagged her. Tagged her! Reached out with claws that stank of vile magic and ripped into her calf as she ran past it, trying to distract it from the frightened couple. She’d goddamned distracted it, all right.
It shouldn’t have been able to get a hit in. It shouldn’t have connected, should have glanced off the way those things always did but it hadn’t. And she doesn’t know why.
She can feel it moving around her. Herky-jerky, stuttering, malicious. She can’t get any smaller than she already is, not unless she stops breathing. And she can’t stop thinking about the worst things that have ever happened to her. It’s a magical effect - has to be - but that doesn’t mean it isn’t working. It’s stalking around the wreckage, toying with her, and all she can feel is roiling dread, all she can think of is how it hurt her and Maggie isn’t here to fix it. She’s failed them all so many times, and now she’s going to fail them again, here, dying as a hiding, wounded animal -
The tent rips away, scattering jewels like stars. Saturday tries to run. The horrible thing grabs her around the waist and squeezes. She gasps, and can’t get back her breathe. It raises her to its tortured face, sneering, and tilts up her chin as its mouth opens like the gate to hell.
Saturday
Saturday stretches her arms over her head, walking along in the twilight. Guts is a familiar presence at her side, quiet and watchful. The sun shimmers on the horizon, a dying candle in a pool of wax. The night is drawing down behind them, soft as a bruise and speckled with stars. In a moment, it will be dark. But for now, their shadows stretch out long before them, crossing the last rays of the sun streaming through tents and stalls like the fingers of God.
It feels good. Good like nothing’s felt, recently. There’s a steady, satisfied ache in her legs from walking all day. She’s eaten her fill, she can afford a warm bed tonight, and the heavy purse at her side promises that won’t change anytime soon. Guts had helped her buy supplies for camping, and was going to show her how to use them. She could ask for more - she could ask to be home, for real, or at least to let home know she was okay - but…
She stops in her tracks and smiles up at Guts, suddenly understanding the warm feeling that’s been enveloping her. It’s happiness. The real kind, that sinks into your bones and makes them strong. She’d almost forgotten.
“Hey. You know what? It’s been a pretty good day.”
Open to All
Her nose itches. She’s crouched under the wreckage of a jewelry stall, surrounded by a fortune in magical gems winking in the dark, and her damn nose itches. The horrible thing is still outside, stalking. It knows she’s in this pile somewhere. All she can do is stay as still as she can, and hope it gets distracted, and then she can, can -
Can do what, exactly? The wound in her leg aches coldly. The fucking thing had tagged her. Tagged her! Reached out with claws that stank of vile magic and ripped into her calf as she ran past it, trying to distract it from the frightened couple. She’d goddamned distracted it, all right.
It shouldn’t have been able to get a hit in. It shouldn’t have connected, should have glanced off the way those things always did but it hadn’t. And she doesn’t know why.
She can feel it moving around her. Herky-jerky, stuttering, malicious. She can’t get any smaller than she already is, not unless she stops breathing. And she can’t stop thinking about the worst things that have ever happened to her. It’s a magical effect - has to be - but that doesn’t mean it isn’t working. It’s stalking around the wreckage, toying with her, and all she can feel is roiling dread, all she can think of is how it hurt her and Maggie isn’t here to fix it. She’s failed them all so many times, and now she’s going to fail them again, here, dying as a hiding, wounded animal -
The tent rips away, scattering jewels like stars. Saturday tries to run. The horrible thing grabs her around the waist and squeezes. She gasps, and can’t get back her breathe. It raises her to its tortured face, sneering, and tilts up her chin as its mouth opens like the gate to hell.
She finds her breath and screams.