Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
The bits and pieces collected against one another, and she found some blossoms to intermingle. Not strong or sturdy, with little white slips of hues falling in and out, but semblances of something rather than nothing at all. She shrugged her shoulders at his question. “Maybe, if we end up over there again. I heard she gives out fortunes,” a little tug of mischief lingered in the corners of her mouth, but she didn’t give away why. Maybe it was the notion of kismet and serendipity itself, cards read and spelled out like fate – when she’d like to be master of her own impulsive, emboldened destiny.
Her head jerked upwards though, one brow arching distinctly, at the notion of planes. “A what?” Her fingers wrapped around a firmer stem, and plucked it from the ground, utilizing the durability and coiling it into her design, no need to glance at it now; muscle memory honing in. “We didn't have anything like that.” And here, now, they had skyports and people that turned into flying beasts and monsters that flickered in and out of the void.
Her head jerked upwards though, one brow arching distinctly, at the notion of planes. “A what?” Her fingers wrapped around a firmer stem, and plucked it from the ground, utilizing the durability and coiling it into her design, no need to glance at it now; muscle memory honing in. “We didn't have anything like that.” And here, now, they had skyports and people that turned into flying beasts and monsters that flickered in and out of the void.
I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
