Morbid and Creepifying
For Deena.
Based on this livejournal icon:
Morbid, he'd said, and River—pacing the ship with dance-steps,
silent in the dark—wondered if she was, or if he had lied.
Death was on her mind, it was true; death was closer out here than it had been
at home, even the nights Simon would return from the training hospital still
smelling of preserved corpses.
But was that morbid? The stars outside were dead, lifeless, and yet they were
not morbid.
Everyone here stank of death. And cows. It lingered, hung in their minds, in
their weapons, even in their frantic embrace of life.
The other term, creepifying, she did not worry about. It wasn't even a
proper word.