For what feels like ages, Serpaz sits in the fire escape of her hive, kicking her legs through the gaps between the rusted bars. Each kick rocks a wailing screech through the structure, as though the entire staircase might peel off the wall and collapse into itself like an accordion.
She kicks harder. The screech burrows under her skin until it feels like it’s her bones that are vibrating.
A second pair of legs joins hers in kicking. She turns on the newcomer, expecting to see her matesprit, there to comfort her as he often does— but instead sees herself.