Melita had fought a majority of her life: even with sprigs of wildflowers or petals in her hair, even with fey essences and unleashed enthusiasm, ebullience, and exuberance, there was always a hint of the wilderness tucked within. Something feral, something stark, something simmering just below the surface, eager, tempted, and enticed into vehemence, into ferocity. It had always existed, well before the blight had gotten hold of her, claimed something of her heart, lungs, and soul (maddening), just as much as the threshold of monsters in her memories, just as much as the ghosts, the demons, the stretch and pull of survival in the corners of her eyes. She’d bled and she’d cursed and she’d snarled, cut and burnt, tarnished and defended, ridiculed and defied, the rush of scars down her back only a few marks chiseled into her skin; barely a consecration of any agonies she’d twisted into herself, any reckless, ruinous violence unraveled in her wake. Her eyes lifted back to his at the surprise in his voice, and maybe he’d never seen her at worst, barreling through the countryside, through fields, unbidden, stoked, and incised, claiming bloodshed and devastation to anyone who dared cross those she cherished. Maybe he didn’t believe her. Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe there were portions of her so stupidly innocent and ignorant, and the other contortions were mettle, grit, bone, and infernal rites – underestimating, or simply confused. Her smile still persisted in his laugh, uncertain if it was meant to be anything more; if she was something less. [say]“Never.”[/say] Her gaze went back to the yarn, to her hands working at finer points, to the click of the needles, to things she wished were sharpened, honed. [say]“I already have my bow and staff. A dagger would be nice,”[/say] and the depths of her eyes swept upward, the grin a little more savage, a little more wicked, as if contemplating the capabilities.
Nathaniel would ask for new boots, entirely practical, and while he kicked at the dirt she watched and stared at the movements, the smile turning less ruffian, softer in its expanse. [say]“Very sensible.”[/say] Because that’s how he seemed – down-to-earth, grounded, rooted in the soil, as if the world could barely knock him from any precipice he chose. Nowhere to falter. Nowhere to stumble. Nowhere to –
And then he indicated he was leaving, and her face fell, well before she could cease the downward trend. She'd been entirely grateful for his company, to see someone she'd thought disappeared into the midst, alive and whole, tangible and real. [say]“Oh, okay!”[/say] Because she wouldn’t stop him, because sometimes her company was too much and she often said the wrong things, because perhaps she’d pressed a little too hard. [say]“I will.”[/say]
Nathaniel would ask for new boots, entirely practical, and while he kicked at the dirt she watched and stared at the movements, the smile turning less ruffian, softer in its expanse. [say]“Very sensible.”[/say] Because that’s how he seemed – down-to-earth, grounded, rooted in the soil, as if the world could barely knock him from any precipice he chose. Nowhere to falter. Nowhere to stumble. Nowhere to –
And then he indicated he was leaving, and her face fell, well before she could cease the downward trend. She'd been entirely grateful for his company, to see someone she'd thought disappeared into the midst, alive and whole, tangible and real. [say]“Oh, okay!”[/say] Because she wouldn’t stop him, because sometimes her company was too much and she often said the wrong things, because perhaps she’d pressed a little too hard. [say]“I will.”[/say]
