we scream our very souls free
The crackle of lightning is a reminder of the danger with which they toy. But if Haunt had been a creature to heed the warnings of others, they would not have chosen to latch themselves, a silent shadow, to the lightning woman as she passed so quietly through the trees. Instead the warning serves only to broaden their toothy smile while simultaneously answering so many questions they had not yet asked.
Speaking volumes of the fear so inherent in her instinctual reactions.
Perhaps Haunt should fear too, but one could almost wonder if they even have the capacity. Haunt does not even know the answer to that question. Had never had reason to, and thus, it is as alien as the sun.
“Everything and nothing,” Haunt replies, answering her question with the completely nonsensical truth. But she had reminded them so easily in the wake of her distraction. Haunt is not so foolish as to touch her again, but the distance remains small. An infinitesimal chasm. And after another moment of silence, the shadow finally breathes, “Why are you scared of being touched?”
