Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
She wrapped her fingers around the undamaged beacons, placing them back in the quiver as well. But she hadn’t taken the broken one, not yet, not until hearing the reasons behind the multitudes.
Her brows furrowed slightly as she listened; no rebuttal extended. A bizarre swansong towards a herald that would inevitably be long since lost to the Ascended; a twist and turn of a path taken in the need for revival. Would Melita have done the same? The youth couldn’t be certain, couldn’t be sure. After all she’d heard of Mort’s realm – of something like paradise after all the hardships, would she have yearned to leave? Her mother and sister wouldn’t be there, no matter when she met her end. Maybe it depended on what she would’ve craved back here.
Is that what Maea had done? Had wanted? Another chance with Sunjata: who glanced anywhere and everywhere? To scrape after him? To follow him in the dark, when he’d already had so many others up ahead? When she’d had some opportunity elsewhere?
And the Old Gods wouldn’t have her back.
“So what are you going to do now?” Fight for the Voice? Entangle herself with the New Gods, rather than the ancient and arcane? Or had it all been impulse, a chance, an opportunity, without forethought? Do the dead dream of such things? She didn't know. The honeybee eventually took the snapped, splintered figment, enclosing her digits around it.
Her brows furrowed slightly as she listened; no rebuttal extended. A bizarre swansong towards a herald that would inevitably be long since lost to the Ascended; a twist and turn of a path taken in the need for revival. Would Melita have done the same? The youth couldn’t be certain, couldn’t be sure. After all she’d heard of Mort’s realm – of something like paradise after all the hardships, would she have yearned to leave? Her mother and sister wouldn’t be there, no matter when she met her end. Maybe it depended on what she would’ve craved back here.
Is that what Maea had done? Had wanted? Another chance with Sunjata: who glanced anywhere and everywhere? To scrape after him? To follow him in the dark, when he’d already had so many others up ahead? When she’d had some opportunity elsewhere?
And the Old Gods wouldn’t have her back.
“So what are you going to do now?” Fight for the Voice? Entangle herself with the New Gods, rather than the ancient and arcane? Or had it all been impulse, a chance, an opportunity, without forethought? Do the dead dream of such things? She didn't know. The honeybee eventually took the snapped, splintered figment, enclosing her digits around it.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
