to build a mountain of a molehill - violence

[violence]

violence

Mother was a magician, but an impotent one – who sat in the shadows, murmuring quietly, who was useless in daytime. It drives Violence mad, watching her (and the fact she can’t enter mother’s mind only infuriates her more). Father, too, is grandiose in his own way – a monster with ridged back and a trilling, bird-like language that is alien, that Violence cannot speak unless she is in his mind, piloting him.
(Mother frowns on that. Mother frowns on a lot of things Violence does.)

Bones don’t talk the girl says. Violence scoffs.
“That’s because you don’t listen,” she says. The creature’s bone-mouth clacks, a moment too late. She’d been distracted.
Sighing, she slips forth, walks closer until she stands beside her bone creation. She makes it bow, dramatic, swipes the front leg-bones out from under it so it almost crashes to the earth.
(She has never played nice with her toys.)
“Violence,” she says – a name, a declaration of want, “who are you?”

I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips

This Is Terrible I apologize