"I have literally never felt so aimless with a crown on my head before--what am I supposed to say, your majesty? Halt and let me rule this land for its rehabilitation? What rehabilitation, that couldn't be exactly done on its own? Honestly! It's--counting, counting...how stupid are we? And besides, if you wanted me to be a Queen or something royal, why be so awkward about it? Why pop in so unexpectedly and then just hand me the--okay, what's this thing? A book? How the--"
More creepy silence, as I looked down at it, all leather-bound and gorgeous. Dymphnea's Tome of Miscellaneous Knowhow, as I'd called it because its original name was of a speech I couldn't quite pinpoint, sitting there beckoning me to open and skim the hell out of it.
"WeLL, SwEEtHeArT, WhAt ArE yOu WaItING fOr? It WoN't BiTe YoU. I'M sURe of ThAt."
To that, I sighed and quickly looked around at the remaining witches, before gazing up, then down at the ground--as if once more checking to see if I wasn't being duped by the Prince of Lies himself--yeah, it was pretty hard at this point to distinguish the two lest someone told me--
"This spell rhymes, doesn't it? Why do all spells need to rhyme, anyway? Is it witch semantics?! I'm calling witch semantics...also, why does it have to--fine, I'll read it..."
--and yet, the feeling as I felt the pages, the glow of my eyes as I didn't look up, the rumble of the dirt below me or the strange strong uncontrolled ketosis scent in the air seemingly bypassing my nose--but one thing, however, did catch my eyes and ears.
The terrified gasps and helpless shrieks of the girls, like it was their last collective day on Earth together, as if they couldn't possibly hold onto their souls for one more minute.
"You dance like fools around your goddess, pray to her every moon in hope of an answer...and now you call for the dead to rise on supposedly her command alone...and what be this? A lowly fountain of blood gushing for her? Rubies of human blood that GOD ALONE have given thee?"
I blinked--that definitely didn't sound like him. It sounded much more femme, with the backbone of Olga, yet the shyness of a lamb. It wasn't Jerome's--Jerome was a little mental, but he was fine. It wasn't Rita's, or Therese's, or even Elijah's--though the showmanship was reminiscent. It wasn't anywhere near Jude's, it was on par with Michael's and Raphael's and Gabriel's--though much less deliberate. Much more terrific, childlike yet genius.
Was it the devil?! Of course not...the devil hated girls, especially Mommy.
YOU ARE READING
Puppetry
RandomWell, let's get this out of the way now. I'm bored and figured--what the hell, I might as well chronicle each day from now until the very end. No particular deadline, really. And something hurts in my hips, so I need to distract from the pain in it...
