Wheeling Gull Isle screaming meemies

the harlequin child had been rocked to sleep by the silence they shared, though once caracal spoke again he roused, fervent for the attention. abel wasn't caracal's, and he wasn't heda's and he wasn't everett's — and though he could no longer remember anything that came before them, somehow he still felt that he might never belong here.

that didn't stop him from wanting it with everything he was capable of and everything he would ever be.

caracal might have though of judah when he spoke of david, but abel could only think of himself. after all, judah was a fearsome hunter and abel was a little too familiar with what it felt like to be prey. abel. elam. david. small. weak. he loved his name, the one that had been bestowed upon him by none other than everett the savior, who he idolized.

but he wanted this name for himself, too.

the story wasn't over. rapt, the boy listened, until abruptly it ended and abel was left alone with a question. what is "killing him"?

but somehow, he thought he might already know the answer. he shivered, unsettled, and pushed that thought away. maybe he didn't want to be david after all.

or maybe he did, and wasn't that the more frightening of his thoughts?