@blissflower: i don’t want anyone to die.
faith tends to her angels like they're pets. along the fields, they work, tirelessly, hungrily. the sun is beginning to set, and there's a chill that warrants the smoking heat from the camp fire, but faith wanders, barefoot, but they heel to her. she is in control. (the bliss is a crazy fucking thing; abby wakes up in the mountains on the side of the road more often than not, groggy, head pounding and light.)
"they're already dead." it's factual, for the most part; the bliss has rotted their brains, and the cloudy not-there glare in their eyes is all that stares back. but faith doesn't want anyone to die — she wants them to work until their knuckles are shot, farm until the exhaustion balances out the blissed-out rage. they will make this world, whatever it entails, and faith will reap what they sow. (she's starting to get it a little more; faith is not a victim of the seeds, but the plant that binds them all together. the roots, coiling, all-encompassing. faith is as big a fucking problem as the father himself.)
"you already fucking killed them." she will burn this field by the end of the week. because faith will let her go, as faith is wont to do, and her mission begins again. (don't you get tired of the death? destruction? don't you hold too much anger in your bones for it to be healthy? you leave a trail of ringing ears and cooked-out silos. you are the explosive element that threatens this world.)
