(There is Gwen, and there is the Spider, and no one else comes from the recesses of her dream-addled mind. There is no one. There is only one spider, until there are thousands.)
The Spider never stops moving, maybe can't stop moving, eight legs in constant motion, somehow never heavy enough to dislodge rubble by accident.
Gwen tries to keep up. She really does. There is blood on her hands and so many people to save and never enough time to do everything that needs to be done and there is always more that needs to be done and there comes a point where she can hardly take it any longer. Where her knees tremble and her hands stutter and where every motion to free a body feels a thousand times harder than it should be.
But it's not that which makes her stumble and stop, no. It's pulling out the form of a teenage boy, face familiar and yet always just a little different every time she blinks, that makes her legs give out beneath her.
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(There is Gwen, and there is the Spider, and no one else comes from the recesses of her dream-addled mind. There is no one. There is only one spider, until there are thousands.)
The Spider never stops moving, maybe can't stop moving, eight legs in constant motion, somehow never heavy enough to dislodge rubble by accident.
Gwen tries to keep up. She really does. There is blood on her hands and so many people to save and never enough time to do everything that needs to be done and there is always more that needs to be done and there comes a point where she can hardly take it any longer. Where her knees tremble and her hands stutter and where every motion to free a body feels a thousand times harder than it should be.
But it's not that which makes her stumble and stop, no. It's pulling out the form of a teenage boy, face familiar and yet always just a little different every time she blinks, that makes her legs give out beneath her.
The Spider never stops moving.