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Madison Scott-Clary 2023-12-30 19:55:14 -08:00
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writing/post-self/motes/004.html
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<p>Michelle/Sasha straightened up and said, almost bored, &ldquo;Indulge, my dear.&rdquo;</p>
<p>With no recourse, Motes drove the blade into her neck, an agonizing slowness that played itself out in a death she had experienced before, she had surely suffered in its own, consensual way.</p>
<p>She died then, whimpering ever more weakly, and as her panicked eyes drifted shut one last time, she awoke with a start, already sobbing.</p>
<p>The house was quiet, as it so often was at this time of the night, when Beholden and A Finger Pointing were either asleep or out at one of their jazzy nightclubs. All the same, she sent a gentle sensorium ping to A Finger Pointing, figuring it best to make sure that they were actually asleep rather than simply under a cone of silence in their room.</p>
<p><em>&ldquo;Dot?&rdquo;</em> came the sleepy reply.</p>
<p>She carefully poked her nose into the room, turning the handle to the door as quietly as she could. &ldquo;Ma?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Is everything alright, Motes?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Nightmare,&rdquo; she mumbled. &ldquo;Can I sleep with you for a bit?&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Of course, my dear,&rdquo; A Finger Pointing said, stifling a yawn. &ldquo;I am busy hogging all the bed, anyway, so there is plenty of room.&rdquo;</p>
<p>Sighing in relief, the skunk nodded and padded into the room, closing the door behind her. She had to feel her way to the bed in the dark. The dark, which seemed to press in against her, bearing rapidly distorting memories of the dream. <em>To think that I could be this disgusting,</em> echoed in her head. <em>&hellip;lurid visions of youth&hellip;</em></p>
<p>There was a part of her that strived to convince the rest that the voice in the dark was not that of A Finger Pointing — despite the lilting, everlasting humor that showed even in sleepiness — but that of Michelle/Sasha, her root instance now more than fifty years dead. <em>It is her waiting with a dagger,</em> that fraction of her promised. <em>It is her waiting with yet more cruel words.</em></p>
<p>But then there was the bed, and then there was the hand holding up the covers to welcome her in, and then there were the arms envelop her, and then there was the feeling of a face — a human face — an unshifting face — her cocladist-<em>cum</em>-mother&rsquo;s face — pressed against the back of her neck, and then there was the clumsy addition of Beholden&rsquo;s paw draping over her side, her other cocladist-<em>cum</em>-mother clearly still more asleep than awake. </p>
<p>And then she finally was able to relax.</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2023-12-30</p>