Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
How many chances did one man deserve?
It was a question she asked herself multiple times; down into the reaches of her fiery, embittered little heart. Should she have committed and stuck to her guns as she’d done before – to give him nothing as he tossed her aside? What was the benefit to returning to this aspect of family? To watch him ruin himself again, in some other way? To witness the shell of his own making?
She didn’t know. The Honeybee had no answers save for the rancorous edges slipping over her tongue, yielding aspects only to her mind, for the moment. You don’t get to do that to me. You don’t get to use me too. Her fists closed, clenched, tightened, around no weapons, but they remained along her lithe figure, or tucked into her bag.
Fangorn and Sila did their best on the journey over, but the closer they all came to the Refuge, the more sour her mood became. A dragon’s contented purr or a vampire gourd’s waving vines could only do so much to ease the tension sliding between her ribs and bones, until she wondered if maybe she should’ve just gotten drunk beforehand. Again.
Her eyes shifted along the sanctuary too, narrowing suspiciously at the world Sunjata had created for himself, and so many others. It didn’t feel like a haven to her, but maybe only her own soul could provide that. Heaving a breath, she knocked on the door to announce herself, and then slid in when it opened at the rapping of her knuckles. Shrugging her shoulders at both companions, she considered it a greeting, and stepped within.
“Hey,” she curled from her voice – indignant and incredulous – before the sentiment of ghosts wafted from the room. Nate’s jacket. Herbs hanging. The smell of food surrounding and pervading her senses; her dragon’s nose lifting, and her own wrinkling. Gods, what was she doing here?
And there he was, scrambling around steaks and sides. She didn’t know what else to say or what to do, but Fangorn initiated everything else with a hardy grumble.
It was a question she asked herself multiple times; down into the reaches of her fiery, embittered little heart. Should she have committed and stuck to her guns as she’d done before – to give him nothing as he tossed her aside? What was the benefit to returning to this aspect of family? To watch him ruin himself again, in some other way? To witness the shell of his own making?
She didn’t know. The Honeybee had no answers save for the rancorous edges slipping over her tongue, yielding aspects only to her mind, for the moment. You don’t get to do that to me. You don’t get to use me too. Her fists closed, clenched, tightened, around no weapons, but they remained along her lithe figure, or tucked into her bag.
Fangorn and Sila did their best on the journey over, but the closer they all came to the Refuge, the more sour her mood became. A dragon’s contented purr or a vampire gourd’s waving vines could only do so much to ease the tension sliding between her ribs and bones, until she wondered if maybe she should’ve just gotten drunk beforehand. Again.
Her eyes shifted along the sanctuary too, narrowing suspiciously at the world Sunjata had created for himself, and so many others. It didn’t feel like a haven to her, but maybe only her own soul could provide that. Heaving a breath, she knocked on the door to announce herself, and then slid in when it opened at the rapping of her knuckles. Shrugging her shoulders at both companions, she considered it a greeting, and stepped within.
“Hey,” she curled from her voice – indignant and incredulous – before the sentiment of ghosts wafted from the room. Nate’s jacket. Herbs hanging. The smell of food surrounding and pervading her senses; her dragon’s nose lifting, and her own wrinkling. Gods, what was she doing here?
And there he was, scrambling around steaks and sides. She didn’t know what else to say or what to do, but Fangorn initiated everything else with a hardy grumble.
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
