A chisel in a failing fist

Melita

I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles

Considering Melita was a smuggler, and mostly just a violent hellion on her best days, the notions of trades for enticing pebbles and volcanic stones had been something she was already well-versed in.

But the joke was lost on her, arching a brow in consideration towards Evie while she called back down to the stranger. “I’m good. Got lots of pretty rocks.” That she’d found immersed and lined amongst the world – including vacant woods or Frey’s rainbow-cast pools, along the bottom of crimson falls, and everywhere else she was lured. Contacts of her own too; amongst the Guild, the Ark, and the rest of the void in between.

and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me