your dreams are all full of war
you are from another time
The fear varnished and lacquered over Melita’s blood like a knife; jackhammering in her heart, a crescendo, a beat, of hell and all the tortures with it. One moment her warnings were extended, unheeded, and within the next, the lightning struck; entangling into the tree simply because it could. you are from another time
The terror was in the maelstrom of her ichor and in the heat of her rage. Fucking Sah and this fucking place and this fucking idiot. “The fuck it was,” she uttered as a growl, and nothing more, backing away until she could only see the image in her brain, flickering and flashing and bludgeoning and dead. She didn’t give a shit about this level of idiocy or defiance; she had enough of her own in spades, and sometimes it mauled and murdered instead of deluded. “The fuck is wrong with you?” She hissed, clutching tightly to her quiver, to her bow, to pieces that still her; tangible and known and near.
salvation doesn't look like light
So what remains?
So what remains?
Melita
