Melita
Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down
to swallow the flame down
Paying no mind to Talyson’s assault or the impending damage, she focused her efforts on the wilder proportions of roots and earth, snagging and tugging while she continued to study. She’d seen enough bones in her lifetime – perhaps the results of an unfortunate childhood spent on edges of survival and promptly watching worlds, and people, fall apart. She traced over it lightly, before furrowing her brows further, gilded eyes bearing witness to Fangorn’s vines interlocking over a few more brandished petals, so she could see better.
And the more she saw, the more she surveyed, the more she noticed that there were multitudes of others. “Tons of them,” was a murmur, peeling back another crimson root to find more woven into the ground. Some reminded the Honeybee of fingers or toes, before long arches of femur heads or shoulder blades; a bizarre making of the world before them. “How would…,”
And the more she saw, the more she surveyed, the more she noticed that there were multitudes of others. “Tons of them,” was a murmur, peeling back another crimson root to find more woven into the ground. Some reminded the Honeybee of fingers or toes, before long arches of femur heads or shoulder blades; a bizarre making of the world before them. “How would…,”
to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun
to be the sun
