And we wear the silver strangely.
Random Story 669658-ppl9
Ephete has always scared him. He thinks of her a dog, and not a woman caught endlessly in her primal form.
I think of her as she used to be, all those moons and moons ago. When winter raged and we raced in our skins through the sleeting snow. I think of her leaping at her prey, fangs bared like hunger. It is this I think of now.
“Fausille?” he asks, voice quiet and unbeliving. “You… you wouldn’t hurt them would you?”
Later in my life, when he is reduced to nothing more than a ghost, he will repeat this question… endlessly. He will ask me in a voice faint from forgetting the use of voices. He will ask me while trailing me. While keeping pace with the endless, sleepless dead.
Forms are the things we know, the shapes we can deal with, because they have names, and when they have names we know how to hold them. I have these forms in my hands, they are three aces and a pair of kings. But I have no idea what shapes congregate outside these forms, and I am too nervous to play my hand.
And, if he’s lucky, he will keep asking as his blood splatters and mixes with the mud of which he is so proud. “Look at that,” he will trill through bloodless lips. “Do you know how much my parents paid for that?”
It’s all right, it’s okay, I tell the cats. It will be quite a sojourn for him, but in the end–quiet, quiet–he will be worth more to He than the few moments you might savor, licking from your fangs. Come come, my felines, I know you better than that, and I know, trust me, that promises mean nothing to your tribe.
I see the green of your eyes when there is no light from sun or moon. I can taste the hungre in your gnarled brow.
That is why I tell you to wait, to wait and to trust. He is promised to The One. But trust me, trust me. His table leavings will be so much more than you can imagine.
\Perhaps I have said…top much. Purr, purr. I didn’t think so.
Oh Crap, sorry, seem to’ve put my frustrated NaNo stuff here.
Chasm,
I love you.
By Io I’ve missed you.
I think I write about shape changing women because I wish I could slip my skin so easily and become something else. Funny thing is I’d like to become what everyone already thinks I am.
Everyone thinks you are what you actually happen to be–an incredibly talented weaver of language. Shapes fly from your fingers, babe, never forget that and watch them fly.
Oh, I thought they thought that I was the chick that would beat them up for money.
[grin]
Well, yeah, that too…