Wheeling Gull Isle turncoat

since no rounds i hope it’s ok to chuck an endcap

before ava left the island, she listened to the muffled sound of dirt being poured over the face of her father. 

she listened to the words of the bereaved. some, like her mother, were twisted with anguish. 

some, like malakai’s, caused a different kind of knife twist. 

ava’s eyes closed as his voice rose over the fading of dinah’s tormented screams. 

her eyes twitched beneath their lids: don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry, she urged herself.

his words fell upon a sorrowed congregation. 

 father of malakai, judah, simeon, and dinah.

ava waited for her name to be called too; the names of her siblings already forgotten, souls who had lived here once and been raised as caracal’s own. 

her acknowledgement never came. she and her kin were as dead to malakai as caracal; no love for them existed in malakai’s heart. he would never see ava as anything but the dirt beneath his feet. 

was she not a child of god; a child of heda and caracal? was he not supposed to love her?

ava’s eyes opened with a knowing flutter. in that hour she saw malakai for what he truly was — and knew he would spend his hateful life denying her god’s light.