#proph5t

the half - mumbled " fuck, lot " that slipped through natalie's lips was a thoughtless one — two nearly detached words breathed into the disarray of lottie's hair, numbed around the fuzzy edges by berry wine, and kept quiet by necessity.

she knew, in the deepest corners of her mind, that she should never have encouraged this. that she should never have turned a blind eye to lottie's first exploratory wanderings in the caves; that she shouldn't have helped further foster her spiraling belief in the archaic power of the woods by committing herself to the part of a queen crowned with backbreaking antlers, a leader still cast in jackie's ghostly shadow — but things could have been worse.

they weren't starving anymore. weren't freezing half to death, now that the first cloudless vestiges of spring had chased away the frost - biting deluge... and lottie was warm, like she'd absorbed the sunlight dappling through the thatched roof of nat's shelter; solid and real, like the earth beneath her scraped - up knees. for the first time since the eve of doomcoming, she was almost human: not just the all - knowing prophesier and mouthpiece for the bloodthirsty wilderness, but some blurred amalgamation of the two.

not like travis, either — but she pushed that thought aside as quickly as it'd formed.

two paces away, the slow, nearly experimental rustle of bedsheets broke the thick silence in the room, snapping her out of her thousand yard stare. but it was the creak of restraints, then the overthrown prophet's voice, cracked - dry with disuse, that forced nat's sleep deprived glance up from the floor.

" you shouldn't try to move — " she started, like anything she had to say might provide some sense of calm: like she knew anything beyond the smell of antiseptic in the air, or the nausea, or the bone - deep shame that sat in her sternum: a fist, wedged against her breastbone.

she didn't. that shame — javi and the baby, laura lee and coach, and the charred mess of jackie's bones, all entangled with the still - vivid memory of lottie fighting against the grip of two first responders — was all consuming; not entirely unlike the snow, or the hunger, but still devouring. still so profound. nat's lip trembled of its own accord, despite her efforts to bite down, curb any display of devastation. she wished, for a fleeting second, she could swipe one of the pills on lottie's nightstand. at least then she might be able to swallow the accusation ( the whole damning truth of it ) without wanting to puke. " lottie, listen to me, " she tried, the gravel in her voice no less unsteady for the breath she'd taken. " there was no other choice. "

" it's not the same, " nat countered, any fight she had left in her confined to the tightness of those words. the weariness in them. the gravel in them. " we were torturing him. you realise that? he was rotting back there. "

what she'd done for coach — that'd been mercy. an act of kindness, served with slow pain, and a rush of blood; a dying smile, even, through the torment, through all the abuse, all the horror. ( in opposition, the viscous blood on lottie's hands was something else entirely. ) still, nat made to rake the gore out of her friend's hair with numb, cold - bitten fingers. beneath her half - stooped form, lottie was shaking; shock, she could only presume, no matter what she said: what spiritual, disconnected bullshit underlined every thick smear of blood she wore. there was no reasoning with that. no understanding, no matter how far down natalie dug, what'd driven lottie to cold - blooded execution.

the earnestness of that statement struck nat as unusual: a departure from the bickering, from the uneasy mystery that seemed to ooze from every crevice of the cabin's dilapidated frame. whispered against her shoulder, it was just honest — like something murmured in the esoteric space between sleep and wakefulness, momentarily undisturbed by the creaking of the floor upstairs.

untouched, for the time being, by whatever it was about this place that'd made lottie so apprehensive to cross the threshold.

nat couldn't bring herself to believe in it, either way: the ghost stories, even if it'd been fun to partake. the mythologising. given the catastrophe that'd swept their plane into a heap of half - disintegrated debris, the bare floorboards and open fireplace left behind by the cabin's previous dweller were a glint of light in a frigid, swelling void. something better than the wild woods and slowly diminishing supply of food. better than nothing, when any hope of going home seemed further and further out of reach, and nothing but death tainted the frost - tinged air.

" keep him comfortable? really? your little experiment here's worth that much cash? " she didn't try to offer condolences, even when she felt lottie's infuriating calm crack for a second. she didn't really know how to, anymore — where she'd even start, or if they'd even matter if she did. instead she simply let lottie tug her close by the arm, like they were still seventeen. followed her lead, like some directionless, lost mongrel on a leash.

for the first time since she arrived, it was almost like she'd started to see the appeal of this place. the serenity, the absence of easy - gained narcotics and blackout benders that'd only ever brought her back to travis. the reality of being plucked from her own near - extinction.

caution laced the drawl of natalie's voice. trepidation — a thread of wariness that even talking about it might tempt the very darkness she'd been running from into being. " you actually think it's possible to make up for... what we did? "

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘 is what they demanded. 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘 is what he’d given them, and yet.. it’d gotten him nowhere. He was still in boiling water— tied up like an animal for them to decide whether he was to be sent to the slaughter for a crime he didn’t commit. Staring her 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘 in the eyes, he could practically see the hunger in them. Her demeanour seemed calm enough, sure.. but it was her body language that betrayed her. Lottie resembled that of a 𝐕𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐑 coiled up and ready to strike at any given moment.

“I already told you. I didn’t fucking start any fire, Lottie.” She claimed not to be a 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑, but out of all the girls? Lottie was the one who seemed to hold the most power over them. The most influence. If she didn’t like his answers.. he knew what came next. He 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐃 to choose his words 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘. “Do you really think I’m capable of something like that? That I’d just snap and try to murder you all?”

His wary gaze dropped down to the offering in hand. Food and a drink. 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃? Ben didn’t make any moves to take it, even though his stomach growled at the sight. “You all scare me.. but that doesn’t mean I want any of you dead.” The girls had 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒 a long time ago, some of them the minute they’d stepped out of the wreckage of that plane. But Ben wasn’t a murderer. “If you really wanna know who started that fire? Then I’d be looking closer to home.”

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐀𝐑.  she smiles.  lottie's fingertips brush her cheekbone on the opposite side while she threads the plucked stem of a bright yellow flower into her hair.  the flower stands out, even against her blonde hair.  laura lee reaches up to brush her fingertips against the flower's soft petals.

she hadn't planned to attend the “doomcoming” as the others were calling it.  the name sent tingles down her spine.  however, when @proph5t asked her to go, how could she say no?  maybe it's just superstitious thinking that's getting to her.  maybe she can partake in the irony without worrying about upsetting a higher power and setting something horrible into motion.