This is an image post. Inspiration for this sketch came from this image.
It’s been forever since the Aged has had any real work, so these days she mostly scrapes by. Children have always liked her for some reason, so she does a lot of nannying. She amuses herself on slow days by carefully drawing out their lives; she doesn’t bite the threads anymore, but her teeth remember the soft thrum of a death, and for a while it’s nice just to remember.
She lives in her head, lives in her memories. Days when she was a force greater than gravity, less than fate. Passionless days, and busy: the Girl’s wheel humming blissfully, the Woman’s clever hands spanning beginning to end, her sharp teeth always meeting, click, decisively. Interesting work, always interesting. So many lives. She can remember how each one felt between her jaws.
She’s stopped in front of a department store, looking idly at row after row of bright steel shears, when the Girl finds her. “Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” says the Aged. “Long time.”
“I’ve been looking all over for you. Listen, we’re putting the band back together.” The Aged shivers; her child starts to cry, uneasily. “Are you in?”
“Oh, yes,” says the Aged, and smiles, long yellow teeth sharp again with purpose. “You can always count on me.”