Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Whether or not the stranger’s voice echoing across was for her, the youth furrowed her brow. Petty, and perhaps indifferent to the hazards of danger, her intrepid feet continued to carry her along the ice, sure-footed despite the alteration in terrain. “I’m all right,” she handwaved to both Evie and the other woman, shouldering the weaponry along her back and bag.
And so sauntering downward, as if at home no matter what the volcano’s compunctions had in store (not unlike herself, perhaps, in some regards), her eyes narrowed somewhat, followed in kind by her companions. Sila murmured a soft coo in her ear, and Fangorn bobbled, vines whipping out to ensure his own lack of freefall. “What are you up to?” extended to both individuals, perhaps, given the strangeness of the meeting.
And so sauntering downward, as if at home no matter what the volcano’s compunctions had in store (not unlike herself, perhaps, in some regards), her eyes narrowed somewhat, followed in kind by her companions. Sila murmured a soft coo in her ear, and Fangorn bobbled, vines whipping out to ensure his own lack of freefall. “What are you up to?” extended to both individuals, perhaps, given the strangeness of the meeting.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
