#maeve2

   it was the grip of fear, the lack of control, that caused ariadne to branch off. her chest tightened, and when she realized she couldn’t escape the appearance of jack’s face, frozen in terror at his early fate, naseua swept over the musician. nothing like this, in her life, could be comparable. and so, she knelt down, and began to dig with her own perfect, manicured hands. 

   “do not laugh,” ari requested quietly, voice far stronger than she felt inside. she sat back, looking at the pathetic beginning of a hole that she had started - she realized then, heart sinking, her own hands would never be enough to dig a full 6 feet down. even with a shovel, she would struggle, the woman who has never done a day of manual labor in her life. “hunter or not. he deserves a peaceful resting place. i wish i had magic to do it for me...” 

   ari looked up now from where she crouched against her heels, dirt smeared on one sweaty cheek, looking like someone unrecognizable with neon hair and dirt-caked artificial nails, hair frizzing at the sides of her tight bun. she met maeve’s eyes, wondering if the other witch felt any of what she personally was feeling, a raging storm within. “i have to do something.”