Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
Fangorn seemed satisfied; brandishing his vines one more time before sauntering back towards the gathered, glancing into the nettles every so often to see if further things could be enticed.
As for Melita, she snickered. “I mean, I have, yeah,” thinking of the potency of the war – of felling monsters, of blowing things up and apart with Ronin in the desert, of stretching her ability to survive through thick and then. But then he said invincible, and her expression altered – for she couldn’t readily admit to that. The bravado diminished in a breath, and her eyes flickered elsewhere; onto branches and bramble, boughs and brush. For all the things she’d accomplished, some still meandered with a caustic bout of shame and embarrassment – perhaps because death had come so swiftly, and so unexpected.
Like she’d been nothing at all – just ether and ash, dismissed. “Nah, not quite..” Her fingers went to her shirt, where scars were covered, and then she pulled away, leaning back against the rock and letting Sila’s tail intertwine over her forearm. Maybe she shouldn’t bother telling him. Or he’d already heard and it hadn’t been a big deal – not worth mentioning when she was living and breathing right there anyway. Her gaze went downward onto rocks and rubble, and she offered a long, long sigh for the thoughts, then went on impulse instead. “You remember that tournament a while back? I think your Warden won it,” and she shrugged again, trying to play off the impending circumstances. “I had just changed over to a demigod and it must have weakened me a little, because one hit from Sah was enough to like, y’know, kill me, and so,” she rambled onward, pretending it hadn’t been laid out into the open, “Ronin brought me back, like almost instantly, but that was a hard lesson.”
Maneuvering on from that, gaze unsettled, her nose wrinkled again at the perception of peace. “I mean, that’s good. Maybe I just wind up in certain situations that require violence.” Or created it herself, which was also a rambling possibility. Walking headfirst into unrelenting vehemence was usually how most of her tribulations stared, but also how they ceased.
As for Melita, she snickered. “I mean, I have, yeah,” thinking of the potency of the war – of felling monsters, of blowing things up and apart with Ronin in the desert, of stretching her ability to survive through thick and then. But then he said invincible, and her expression altered – for she couldn’t readily admit to that. The bravado diminished in a breath, and her eyes flickered elsewhere; onto branches and bramble, boughs and brush. For all the things she’d accomplished, some still meandered with a caustic bout of shame and embarrassment – perhaps because death had come so swiftly, and so unexpected.
Like she’d been nothing at all – just ether and ash, dismissed. “Nah, not quite..” Her fingers went to her shirt, where scars were covered, and then she pulled away, leaning back against the rock and letting Sila’s tail intertwine over her forearm. Maybe she shouldn’t bother telling him. Or he’d already heard and it hadn’t been a big deal – not worth mentioning when she was living and breathing right there anyway. Her gaze went downward onto rocks and rubble, and she offered a long, long sigh for the thoughts, then went on impulse instead. “You remember that tournament a while back? I think your Warden won it,” and she shrugged again, trying to play off the impending circumstances. “I had just changed over to a demigod and it must have weakened me a little, because one hit from Sah was enough to like, y’know, kill me, and so,” she rambled onward, pretending it hadn’t been laid out into the open, “Ronin brought me back, like almost instantly, but that was a hard lesson.”
Maneuvering on from that, gaze unsettled, her nose wrinkled again at the perception of peace. “I mean, that’s good. Maybe I just wind up in certain situations that require violence.” Or created it herself, which was also a rambling possibility. Walking headfirst into unrelenting vehemence was usually how most of her tribulations stared, but also how they ceased.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
