not everything is a poem

The Honeybee

I believe in holding grudges
I'll heal in hell

One might’ve though Melita was doing some self-reflection, after all the latest trials and tribulations. Maea dying at the drop, and her part in it.

Alas, they would be mistaken.

Showcasing her incredible talent for not giving many fucks until they really pissed her off, the demigod and her entourage of Firecracker and companions jetted over the Hollowed Grounds instead, landing on one of the many isles that never existed before the war. “We can search for shit here,” she shrugged, disembarking from the skyship and hauling Fangorn out, watching as he bounded for the bone bridges.

There used to be just the one, ages ago, when there’d been so many other singular things. “Whatever,” she uttered on nostalgia, letting it pass through her, and instead, opting to peer into the water for anything worthwhile to shoot.

Pay a little more attention to the healing power
of incandescent rage

Melita