I'm wasted, losing time; I'm a foolish, fragile spine
I want all that is not mine; I want him but we're not right
“Oh, no!” she cries, taking a step forward even as the back of her eyes watered. “Please don't leave.” She did not have any real reason why she doesn’t want him to leave except the thought of it made her terribly sad. She was not used to being around other souls often; it was even less common to be around others that did not immediately focus on the veins pumping delicately beneath her papery skin or the glass bones that would sometimes peek through when the sun hit her thin sides just right.
So while this may be an enormously awkward, uncomfortable encounter, it was also deeply pleasant for her, and she desperately wanted it to continue. “You aren’t offending us, I promise.” She looked toward Xylo, giving him a small encouraging smile before looking back to Fart. “See? We would both like for you to stay. Very much so.”
She wondered at his question for a moment—giving it the time and weight that it deserved. Did she have other names? She imagined that she would. Broken. Sick. Murderer, to some degree. (Did she not play her own part in the death of her brother? Did she not have blood on her hands?) All names that others could give her, and she could not refute them. She knew in her heart of hearts that they would not be an incorrect name were they to be given to her. She would have to take up the mantle and wear it.
She would have to.
Still, she knows what he is actually asking and so she only gives him a sad smile, the corners of her mouth lifting just a little. “Ah, no. Just the one.” Her ears flicker atop her head as she looks between them, thinking about the odd group that they made. “I am glad to hear that you think that though.” She drops her head a little, “I think that you would be pleasantly surprised to find just how many nice girls you will find here.” Not like me, she finishes in her head. But he doesn’t need to know just how not nice she is.
Adaline looks toward Xylo, watching him, taking in his thinness and the sunken nature of his gaze. “I suppose that makes three of us then.” A pause.
“I guess that makes us lucky to have found one another.”
in the darkness, I will meet my creators
and they will all agree that I'm a suffocator