They watch it prowl about them, taunting, gloating. Like Alex, ever defiant. The face for the thing without a face, the sharpened and bloodied tool, the blunt force instrument equivalent to the role they served on their friend's behalf.
Their friend is not here.
No one is here.
Their face is empty. Their eyes are dark.
Something coils within them, cold and hot and monstrous, something they do not like, something they do not know. No. No, they do know it, they know it only in reference to the thing that lurks with its blank canvas of a face. Not obedience. Not anger.
Fear.
They are not meant to be afraid. Not in the face of this ragged little scrap of thing, vindictive beast with its grin like glass and its bones so brittle.
So they rise and they leap for it, arms outstretched for its neck, mindless frustration bubbling low and heavy in their chest with the force of an enraged snarl.
no subject
Their friend is not here.
No one is here.
Their face is empty. Their eyes are dark.
Something coils within them, cold and hot and monstrous, something they do not like, something they do not know. No. No, they do know it, they know it only in reference to the thing that lurks with its blank canvas of a face. Not obedience. Not anger.
Fear.
They are not meant to be afraid. Not in the face of this ragged little scrap of thing, vindictive beast with its grin like glass and its bones so brittle.
So they rise and they leap for it, arms outstretched for its neck, mindless frustration bubbling low and heavy in their chest with the force of an enraged snarl.