some lives read like poetry, others like cacophany
for Melita
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
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#15
WESSEX
One could say it was for those things that Melita lashes out. Or it could be because she’s being sucked in to the bullshit by her surroundings and the people she surrounds herself with. It could be because she doesn’t listen, which at this point is never a surprise (Wessex’s resilience to disappointment at this stage in her life is remarkably strong), and because she hasn’t tried to find the truth.

How long has the girl wanted to say that? How long has it been simmering and bubbling and poisoning her heart?

“No,” she responds reflexively, the look of a wounded animals lingering in her face. The face of a kicked puppy, perhaps, who keeps trying for love and affection but is violently rejected at random moments so that it doesn’t know whether or snap back or stay in its corner.  “I’ve been rewarded for being reliable, smart, and strong. I’ve been rewarded for saving lives. They all forget, don’t they? Everyone who’s come after her has forgotten that when they were trapped beneath rock and rubble, when a monster kept them penned in, she was there, fighting to free them. “For fighting monsters in the Drop, for making this past LongNight one with the fewest deaths in probably a whole damn century. Only four deaths? Melita, that’s some kind of miracle, and it's in spite a whole house continuously opening doors and going outside.”

She shakes her head and turns back to the stacks, looking at the spines but seeing nothing in front of her. “I’ve been rewarded for teaching and training with probably half the people in the Grounds, for leading a group of people who love to talk but don’t know how to listen. For stepping up to help my people because for some forsaken reason, Outlanders think we have to have a leader - but everyone that’s been ‘chosen’  by them has stepped down.” The scorn there is evident, as she recalls the various crownings and abdications in the absurdly short time frame.

“I’ve been rewarded for feeding people when I don’t need to eat, for building shit and listening and doing away with Zariah’s stupid laws. I’ve given you nothing but freedom and when I fucked up, I gave you all a voice you haven’t had before.” All at cost to herself. All they had to do was show up. And still they criticize.

“I’ve been rewarded for saving the Ascended from Roana and Ludo. A god is actively telling people to kill us, Melita. A whole race. Gone. And it’s not just Ludo, the others also tried to kill me with sunshine. Jigano tried to bite me in half while a dragon. And did the Voice try to kill him for that? No. Do you think I would have gotten such leniency from any of the Old Gods?” But does she go around whining about it? No. Does she let it affect her? No. Wessex soldiers on and privately counts her grievances until she can no longer keep them bottled up. They they explode. Like this.

“And yes, for opening two portals. For doing what I had to do. For protecting Rex and Sam and Amun when we got into a shitty situation that was beyond our control.” She turns back to Melita now, addressing the heart of what she imagines the girl is upset about.  

“I killed a Fae who was trying to kill me after I offered everyone cease-fire. The rest? Not by my hand, but no one knows that because no one’s asked what happened at the Mathair. And I don’t know how many times we have to say it, but I didn’t know about the blight. And when I did, I worked to restore everyone to their rightful senses. I made it a priority against everything else I had to do as Queen.” She shakes her head and practically growls in frustration. “I don’t know why She did that, and I’m sorry she did. But She isn’t the only one who does shitty things. Do you know why Rae allows plagues and crop-failure and starvation and other things that kill plants and animals and people? My whole family died from sickness and no one ever came to help.”

Does she need to say it? That no one died from the Blight, so how were their lives ruined? “Why there are predators and landsharks and Ursurs and Frost Giants? All of those things have killed more than I have. People here have killed, but call it a career and that’s ok, but I’m -?” There’s something wet and shiny in the corner of her eyes, something that springs unbidden in her outpouring of frustration and reckoning. “I've done nothing but try to right the wrongs and personally show you, Melita, that I care - and you still come after me.”

Wessex looks up, trying to blink the wetness away. “If the Blight and the Fae are all you see, then…” she drifts off, unwilling to finish that sentence. Then she doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what to do. Then maybe Melita isn’t the girl she thought she was.
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
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#16
MELITA
Her words ignited, sparked, and sizzled; it might’ve been an inferno, a conflagration, and she stared deep into the embers and cinders while Wessex imploded from the inside out – didn’t look away, couldn’t, from the matches and flint she’d tossed into the alcoves. For once, she was not comprised of vitriol or vehemence, there was enough in the room for the both of them anyway, but tied to the listening stages and the coveted roles of games they all played – who was better, who was braver, who had done more, who was deserving, who was worthy, who played more of a role, who should’ve been melded and molded into the framework of deities. Her features were rendered into something quiet, something meticulous, only a narrowing of her eyes indicating something seething behind her gaze, a fire of its own brewing and brooding, pondering the mantras and narratives, if the earth plagued Wessex so she did so in turn, or if the results were merely altered for everyone’s benefit, if the stakes were just too damned high now, if frustration, if ire, were all they had left.

Some notions she could accept, a nod given and granted, understanding when more of the information came to light – absorbing the lines, the sketches, the disembarking of other channels and fissures. Others, the youth plucked and absconded, shook her head, a calm, almost brewing ferocity laden beneath intonations – incapable of justifying some other venues and monologues. “You single-handedly saved everyone on LongNight?” Here she could scoff and snort, because she’d seen what they’d all done, in the guild, fighting for lives and seeking out help, arms outstretched, willing to lend hands whenever they could. That wasn’t just Wessex. That was Caido. That was the Hollowed Grounds. “What about our community? These people did that. All of them. They took others in. They healed one another. They sang to the luxere. They tried to keep everything calm.” Not just the Wraith. There’d been others who taught, who trained, who’d led for god knows what reason, but hadn’t been rewarded in their efforts. Maybe they hadn’t gone far enough. Maybe they hadn’t wanted it. Maybe no one had asked for a damned leader, and Zariah went and named herself one simply because she could. But they were all lumped together just the same, the Outlander hissing, the same old song. No matter how long they’d lived here, no matter how much they contributed, no matter how often they assimilated, it wouldn’t be enough.

More to refute, amongst truths, her sighs evident in the dusty sanctions, her lantern light diminishing, arm folding down, down, down so the sanctions of their embers only hit the floor. “Then freedom into the Greatwood was taken away. Then when we wanted to ask you things at the forum, you left.” Voices, voices, and more voices; contradictions abound. It didn’t matter, in the end, now, but gods she was sick and tired of the accreditation varnishing when it still hit walls and they still were at the mercy of a sovereign’s conundrums. “I spoke to Ludo about that. There were repercussions there too.” If that made the Wraith feel better, if it even punctured and pierced over the gaping wounds. That the herald’s tactics hadn’t been approved by other, higher gods; no more for her to say, when Ludo wouldn’t give in to her prying. Wessex could make of that what she would.

But the once-queen continued to make everything sound as if she’d been the only one for any of those things – and not her constituents, not her fellows, as a whole. Maybe that’s what irked and irritated the honeybee girl the most – that even while there’d always been others, Wessex was the pedestal, the paragon. Perhaps that’s what the Voice wanted, noted, and cherished – someone to be their guiding light in the lightning blitz, in the vehemence sure to follow.

It unraveled, and her grip on the lantern tightened, long, billowing breaths to hold it all together, irritated at the pending tears pressing into the newest demigods’ gaze, irked that all of this was even taking place, crawling and persisting in the back of her mind – predators amuck and rampant, so it was fine for them to suffer, because no one had died from the blight? So it was fine for those who hadn’t deserved the sickness to rampage into their crazed, agonized minds, because no one had perished? So it was fine to succumb, to be something, someone else, to be cruel, to be things she’d never wished to be, twisted and turned and spit back out – the world forgiving her when they never should’ve? “You asked me my opinion. I did not come after you. I wanted to understand. The blight and the Fae are what I’ve experienced, what I’ve heard.”

She didn’t know what else to say after that. What more to be done, to be extended in the hollowed reaches, where points melded and folded, where lines drew together and seemed to split apart. “I guess you do deserve it.” For whatever it was worth, for whatever segments were maligned or stabbing, grand or great or ebullient.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
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#17
you wouldn't even recognize me anymore
not that you knew me back then
The demi-god marks Melita’s concessions and fills them with tiny little buckets of hope. She drowns the nods in imagined signs of peace, only to kick them over by putting her own foot in her mouth. Is that what she’s saying? Perhaps, to some extent. But also, not. No. On the other hand, if the Temple had fallen, she would have been blamed (wasn’t it on Loren’s tongue - didn’t he say it was all her fault?) Yet she can’t collect on keeping the kids safe. Or the rest of Naturals, conveniently forgotten, her original people traded for the neediest, most rash and ambitious and utterly ridiculous. “No, of course not. But the groups in the Temple and the Guild were a small portion of the people I was responsible for. A vocal minority. I planned, delegated, and followed up, kept a place safe. You’re right, the community stepped up, did the majority of saving. The guildhall also opened the doors constantly, which made the saving necessary.” She sighs, remembering the contradiction and war between her need for control, particularly in this instance, and knowing that it was necessary to let the week play out as it would - even if it meant death.

“And like I said, when I fucked up, I listened to what you wanted and stepped down, without any fuss or retaliation. Greatwood access is back. It was gone for, what - three weeks?” They rail against captivity, against the woods being closed but how brief was it, against her lifetime in a cage? Wessex quiets, turning back to the bookcase as the light dips away from her face. There are implications in what Melita says, and it hits the very core of her motto, that people don’t listen. They weren’t listening at the meeting, unless they disagree about the sovereignty of the Grounds. “Should I have let Delah dictate what happens here?” The war-chief may have given the ultimatum, but the Grounders made the choice - and that, the ex-Queen can live with.

Even if there’s this bizarre Fae idolization going on, with the Grounders acting like the Fae were inherently better than them. If only they knew what kind of people they were, the violence they’ve historically wrought upon themselves? “Yes, I left. Given recent interactions I felt it’d be the safest way to avoid the back and forth that happened with Zariah. I did my best not to make it about me and what I did, other than give you the facts. It was about you all deciding what you want to do, without my influence. And I didn’t trust it to not devolve.” Either by her hand, or by others.

What they’re really upset about, she imagines, is that she didn’t give the crowd an opportunity for catharsis; she didn’t let them yell and scream and lead with accusatons, paint her as an inhuman monster, or bombard her with so many questions and what-ifs that it derails the conversation. Wessex took the power with her by leaving. She left them emotionally empty handed. “What would you have asked?” she wonders into the darkness, as a title catches her eye and she slips it on top of the book she’s already pulled. She is genuinely curious about what Melita would have asked - was it based in clarification or condemnation? Phrased like her ‘question’ that was no more question than the Ascended herself a devotee of the Old Gods.

“If you say so. I heard an attack. In the language. What you’ve done to us. Tasting the words as they roll through her mouth, she can only find acid and spite and anger. Well-deserved, in some instances. And maybe this is why Wessex is the demi-god and not any of the other Ascended. Because she’s shouldering the blame, giving the others free reign and good will and the opportunity to continue to lead and paint and be a kid. What she’s done? She’s opening the world. And sometimes things get messy. Sometimes there are casualties. Sometimes it doesn’t go according to plan.

It makes her want to scream - at everyone and no one in particular. f they're so against portals they don't have to use them. Stay back. Live in the Grounds. Never travel. If the Voice is so bad then stop using her technology.

If Melita really wants to understand, it seems like there are better questions to ask. “You’ve experienced more than that with me. I’m sorry if they don’t outweigh the bad. I hope you can believe that I would never try to hurt you.” It’s the same thing she’s said to Amalia - to the family of strong women she's always wanted to have.

Even if they don’t believe her.
but it all comes back to me in the end
WESSEX
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
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#18
MELITA
The lantern light cast its way along the floor, but her eyes didn’t follow, wandering over shadow-induced spines, jaw clenched, listening, listening, listening, striving to explain, to compel, to settle into what the world had requested, hastened, and bristled amongst those temple corridors, and her feelings, her matters, into the designation. She understood they hadn’t been the only ones, but she could only relate her experiences, and no one else’s, which was why her gilded eyes seared back over to the Ascended woman’s on the final statement about opened doors. “Would you rather Rexanna, Samuel, or anyone else who was out there die? The Monster Hunter’s Guild chose life this year.” And she didn’t care – she’d help and assist and do something all over again. She’d stand right behind Remi, or amongst the others who opened the door constantly. Always the betwixt and between, the warnings and ultimatums; a weight of quandaries and aspirations – the fire and loss of a building worth the weight of others still alive, still beating, still remaining.

As far as Delah and the concerns around the Greatwood, Melita had little diplomatic strengths or fortitudes, politics never a thing to come up in the Rift, when everyone was striving to make it to the next day, the next hour, the next minute. In all likelihood, the Chieftess had likely spiraled her control as far as she could, preventing them from accessing the beautiful wood, but couldn’t have dictated or conspired in their midst of the grounds, fair enough concession to the Wraith with her nod. “No. You shouldn’t have.”

Zariah’s forum had been a mess – a dramatic upheaval where she gave and took away, where she exhibited her power with dominion and tyranny, and sewed further seeds of rebellion into the soil of those she considered her people. Melita had no doubt that it would’ve fallen apart the moment anyone besides Wessex had spoken, had asked, had inquired, but without that magnitude, without that spark, without those nuances of abhorrence, wrath, and contempt, it’d just been idle frustration around the room the instant the Wraith had poofed. They’d also put together some semblance of a solution too, going forward, maneuvering onward, what they all appeared to do no matter what crisis bubbled and frothed.

Everything else echoed in ricocheting balms, causing her to pause, the vitriol sunken, the grip on her lantern tightening once more, more out of frustration than anything else. Because she didn’t know anything about crossroads, about parallel lines and where they never met again, about the quandaries hastening forth, over and over and over again, made to be bent and broken. Never try to hurt you bounded within too, and the youth wanted to believe it. Perhaps what she truly detested in these waking, witching hours was the notion of change, and how rapidly it spread to and through hearts, no remorse, no regret, leaving naught but barbed, jagged edges in its hollowed ethers. Finally her eyes went back to the bookshelf, to the Wraith herself. “I felt safe with you in power. I thought we would be fine against the likes of Zariah, or anyone else, because of your strength and abilities.” No defiant fringes, no seditious boundaries, just the veracity braced into her feet, into her stillness, along her mouth, pressing into the bridges. “Then the blight happened.” She gave no word about the lack of trust, about the confusion, about the terrors locked and loaded in her heart, just as nefarious, just as horrific, as the monster she’d dealt with long ago; within a void, a shell, of simple, predatory means, slashing and lacerating and ripping worlds apart. “What changed? Would you do it all again?” If she could reverse time – would she have assaulted the Fae? Would she take an oath of crowns and titles? Would she wear the mantle? Would she try and lead them all? Had it ever been worth it, in the end?
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
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#19
you wouldn't even recognize me anymore
not that you knew me back then
She wants to huff and puff and blow the house down sometimes, be the big bad wolf they make her out to be.Melita. You know I didn’t want anyone to die, that’s why we had passwords and procedures.” Wessex chose life by being safe. “The Guildhall chose life by being reckless. They had the privilege to be able to do so, with more power in a single building than all of the Grounds. And because there was another safe place that would open its doors to them.” But she’s not there to argue that with the girl, she won’t argue it anymore, because there are other things to talk about - like the fact that the firebrand felt safe - and then didn’t.

“I hear you,” she says finally, with a step or two closer. “Tell me what happened to you during the blight? Help me understand, because I can’t - I don’t know what you mean by changed.

There’s a bit of a far away look in her eye as she revisits everything in the past year. “Yes,” Wessex begins slowly. “I would do it all again. Differently. But I would do it again.” Do it better. But it’s all made her who she is, given her this gift, and let her know what she’s truly capable of. To some extent, the Wraith still thinks she’s been a decent Queen. Not the right leader for the right time. But open, ‘of the people’ and dedicated to keeping her people safe. Disagreeing with her methods doesn’t negate those facts.
but it all comes back to me in the end
WESSEX
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
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#20
MELITA
Melita would prefer to wage it all out too, but she was trying her best through the blinding, blistering wake of frustration, narrowing her breaths down to long, slow rhythms. Maybe they’d never understand each other again. Maybe they were simply talking in circles and spirals, and it wouldn’t matter in the end, both dedicated to their portion of the stories and sides. Maybe one would listen and the other would not, and it would change sporadically, and still bear no weight. Perhaps it had been reckless to open doors to save others – but Wessex hadn’t been there. Damned to be condemned in her thoughts and opinions, and so the girl shrugged away the notion of passwords, of privilege (gods, they were privileged to be saving lives – was that what’d it been? A collection of people who’d worked and thrived and strived, who’d sung to luxere, who’d beckoned their powers to offer sanctums and sanctuaries?) The second realm of shelter hadn’t even clambered into her mind until theirs burned down – so she shrugged it all away, her eyes on shadows contorting along the spines of books, on the letters she could no longer make out, on places she’d rather be.

I hear you shuffled towards her, closing in, and the girl shifted her weight, a fight or flight mode scratching somewhere along her surface, under her skin, in her limbs. Did she really want to know? Earlier it hadn’t held any merit – because no one had died while they suffered, while they waged and wreaked havoc, while they were smothered and consumed by something they couldn’t fight. Hadn’t Phoebe tried to find cures? Hadn’t so many of them put their efforts into discovering the hows and whys? And the cause had been staring them in the face. Her eyes flickered back to the Wraith’s, flinty, ready to ignite. “I have always strived to help and defend others. And I attacked them instead. I had no control. I didn’t know who I was, and I didn’t care.” It’d gone against all her principles – and then she’d been left to wonder if that, that barbaric, brutal, eldritch little soul, had been everything she’d ever been trying to hide.

But Wessex would do it all over again, and that was all she needed to hear. The youth couldn’t tell if it was disappointment bounding in her chest or something else altogether; no name in the emotion, in the twisted paradigms between them now. Fangorn nudged at her ankle, and she lifted her lantern again, turning and shifting along the opus of darkness, the little panes of light far more dignified than she’d ever be.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
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#21
you wouldn't even recognize me anymore
not that you knew me back then
Well that’s why they’re at opposite ends of the earth, because they are opposite people. Not that Wessex hasn’t sought to defend and help, but that unlimited goodwill has always been reserved for a select few; her family - both biological and adopted, and her friends, those that she can count on a single hand. Which makes Wessex’s morality operate on more of a case-by-case basis, judging what some people deserve and what others don’t. For example, she’s torn apart by the blight affecting Melita, but could care less that it affected Jigano. She is not a one size fits all kind of person, because she’s learned that the world rarely operates in that kind of fairness.

Maybe it’s a lesson Melita will have to learn. Or maybe she won’t, and she can cling to her superior morals for the rest of her days. Which is funny, because Wessex is quite sure there are other people in the girls’ life who have killed and done shitty things, but she doesn’t see them catching any flak. But like she said - the world isn’t fair.

She nods, a pale face in the darkness. “Is that why you ran from me, when we were in the Spire?” Is it something she’s beating herself up for? Or rather, beating Wessex up for? “No one is mad at you for that. For anything anyone did while blighted.”

Her gaze shifts to the little gourd and his nudging, tempted to tell her to just go and forget about Wessex, that she’s free from any and all perceived obligations to the older woman. Go and live in fear or hatred or whatever she feels towards the demi-god. She doesn’t, though. Because that’s giving up. “That’s one of the things I would do differently. The blight. I would ask more questions. Listen. Push back.”
but it all comes back to me in the end
WESSEX
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
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#22
MELITA
No – Melita’s goodwill wasn’t unlimited. It came with its faults and flaws too, the more she learned about others here, the more she experienced, the more sagacity and wisdom something managed to puncture into her audacious little mind. She would allow Kiada to drown, to burn into a crisp, to fall victim to any onslaught simply out of rage, vengeance, and what she believed to be cold-hearted justice. Loren wasn’t her favorite. There might’ve been scores of others; but it didn’t really matter. She’d strived. She’d tried. And sometimes that was all they could ever do. Sometimes she wished she were more, capable of chiseling safety and sanctum in the circle of her weapons, in the sanctity of her bow, in the twist and turn of boldness.

The inquiry about the blight made her chin rise again, but her expression cast off into shadow, into the folds of darkness, not raising her lantern. Her eyes didn’t see, didn’t catch on anything in particular. It was a mulish thing to do, but so were other actions the girl had taken as of late, uncertain how to respond, how to reply, when she understood and knew the truth. Rexanna had told her as much. Wessex had told her as much. She often didn’t want to adhere to it, continued miring, spiraling, back into the convoluted mess of dangerous things she’d become – uncertain whether to cherish and nourish the rapacious, ravenous edges, or steer clear of them. “I can still be mad at myself.” For succumbing, for falling victim to it in the first place, for being weak and careless and stupid.

Fangorn curled against her again and the youth shifted, ready to dash, ready to flee, ready to be evade, tired and drawn, taut and rigid, fighting onslaught after onslaught in her bones. She would have done the blight differently. Would it have mattered? Would the end results still have been the same? “Pushed back against who?” The question came untethered, flew from her mouth without preamble or prelude, impulsive, impetuous, gilded eyes finally sliding back over to the Wraith.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
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#23
you wouldn't even recognize me anymore
not that you knew me back then
It’s a weird kind of defiance in that moment; Wessex sees it as defiance for defiance’s sake, a stubborn child adhering to something that ultimately does her no good, makes her feel like shit, when everyone else gives her permission to let go without consequence. Self-flagellation for self-imposed super harsh judgements. Hell, even Wessex doesn’t do that, and she has three score more faults and sins to atone for. She gives Melita a weird look. “Sure. No one’s stopping you.” Perhaps others have tried, but if she doesn’t want to take the get out of jail free card, then she’s on her own.

Thinking perhaps that the answer was obvious against whom she might have pushed back, the demi-god blinks at the question. “The Voice,” she says after a moment. Who else was there to push back against? Phoebe? The girl could use a good smack across the head every now and then, but the midwife had no control over the situation.

As least Melita hadn’t asked how, because the truth is that the Wraith doesn’t know. It had been set in motion when they’d first stepped into the Greatwood, years of revenge oozing out of her Goddess in a move that the ex-Queen can genuinely understand, but reeked of poor strategy. And she can’t imagine anything being effective in holding the Ascended back from exploration - or any of the Groundes, really. Freedom lay at their feet. Only the fear of death could have held some of them back.

But it’s useless to fight emotion with logic. One is hot, the other is cold - one is unpredictable, while the other yearns for stable facts. Perhaps this is just exhausting and futile. Perhaps this is the end, and she should just give it up, because that would certainly be easier and hurt less. Is it even worth it to give Melita time and space? What could a year do that six months could not?
but it all comes back to me in the end
WESSEX
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd SILA - Mythical - Dragon (Fire Breath)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 2,913 | Total: 10,646
MP: 9824
#24
MELITA
Subversion for the sake of subversion was the definition of Melita: nonsensical, stupid, rash, and unrelenting towards others as much as herself. No one’s stopping you indeed, a flex of her defiant chin again before it settled downward; stuck in the rut and ruin of her own effects and actions for another go around.

The inquiry had been based solely on other factors and factions – a number of possibilities ranging from the Voice (and yes, the question would’ve been how, had Melita been pressed further), to anyone else involved in the travesties. A portion of the girl wondered if they were all damned to begin with, and it was due to happen again in some other folly, in some other way, and it would just be an endless cycle of finger pointing and why didn’t you do something, and I had no idea what was going on; the realms of ignorance presiding and prevailing while the rest were caught, tormented, by something they had no control or dominion over.

Then they fell to silence, and she nodded, accepting the answer, lowering the lantern again. The youth wasn’t sure of what else to say, where else to bend or sneer, or if everything was a moot point now, the hostilities fizzled, gone, and the hollowed ends left in their wake. Instead of saying goodbye, of hastening whatever else crossed over her mind, her gilded eyes found the Wraith’s from in the shadows once more. “I’ll leave you to your reading then.” Perhaps not a great, grand revelation or resolution – but better to walk away before they blistered and seethed in the Atheneum’s quarters any longer. A departure on lantern light, a maneuvering of feet and vampire gourd, returning to tomes and safer, understood prospects.

(-FIN for Melita)
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts


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