Aug 16
An idle hand anxiously flicks rhythms against green fabric (a rich hue upon thick, somewhat sweltering, material). "A child's price to pay..." she says, a daze lingering on her tongue. Flashes of red so dark it turns black against white sheets. Begetting and begetting... a child's price to pay for the father's sins. The mother's. Left unspoken: ... for an eye's vendetta. The thought crosses her mind that she'd always preferred blue. An open sky or an endless ocean. The corner of her mouth twitches with an unnerved fervor. "An earwig might eat its own young were it to find itself under such duress. Its own kin." | @kinslaeyr
