( blades to be sharpened; women's own edges. gwenaΓ«lle sits behind her in the low, flickering light and works a comb through araceli's hair while she in front works the edge of the blade, and it is and is not much like other evenings they've spent passing drink and hair-combs between them.
she doesn't know what, precisely, crawls so restless under araceli's skinβbut she knows the shape of grit-teeth bravery, the brittleness of bones that have too much asked of them. she can't make it not so, can't offer any assurances but her own steadiness.
and it's strange to do. to have it to offer. but every girl needs a girl, sometimes. they can't sit here holding hands in the darkness, but they can sharpen their blades, and fix their braids, and she can hope it means something. )
I'm going to join your project when we get back.
( a beat. )
If that's all right.
( she wouldn't tack that last part on for just anyone. )
night.
she doesn't know what, precisely, crawls so restless under araceli's skinβbut she knows the shape of grit-teeth bravery, the brittleness of bones that have too much asked of them. she can't make it not so, can't offer any assurances but her own steadiness.
and it's strange to do. to have it to offer. but every girl needs a girl, sometimes. they can't sit here holding hands in the darkness, but they can sharpen their blades, and fix their braids, and she can hope it means something. )
I'm going to join your project when we get back.
( a beat. )
If that's all right.
( she wouldn't tack that last part on for just anyone. )