Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
Melita would never be anyone’s damsel in distress, nor caged, clipped bird. There weren’t any hutches or aviaries large enough to contain her fire, her rage, her chaos. She would’ve found a way to bite and claw her way out, with resentment building until she pummeled anything and everything to the ground. And then she would’ve set it all aflame. So it was wise of Iskra to not give voice or chase those notions; she’d always done as she pleased, for better or worse. Some moments were better than others – she could admit to her foolishness in Halo. She could cut her losses with the tournament. She could lick her wounds in private, where coals and embers were stoked rather than ablaze. She could tear herself apart from the inside out from every other stupefying nuance, but it wouldn’t much matter – not when boldness had been so laced into her survival, not when impulse took control and every motivation was so enriched by risk, by reward, by violence and vehemence and vengeance. Ferocity clambered its way up her pulse just as much as her blood.
So when he lanced back, she rolled her eyes, that mulish tilt to her jaw angling enough to encompass her irritation – why this had become the headline when all she’d wanted to do was be fucking honest. “Really? That’s what we’re going to argue about? I’d done a shit ton more dangerous things than that,” she huffed. She hadn’t stabbed him so mercilessly when he fucked off into the wilderness for years – well, that bad. “It was just dumb.” Then she hurled the roll of bandages at him, hoping they might ping off his head or one of his many muscles.
Then she leaned back against the tree, arms already crossing at her chest, like stitches of armor where her furrowed brow and irritating endeavors clearly weren’t doing enough. “How the fuck would I know? Wasn’t the first thing I asked him.” Glancing over at the limbs and boughs nearby, she wrinkled her nose, bothered, nettled, thorned herself now. “Koa thought he had one of those mageglass things to enhance his magic – that’s probably what did it.” Then, maybe to make herself feel better, she inwardly picked at the old wound, a reminder. “I’ll get my revenge on him at some point.” When she was stronger. Better.
So when he lanced back, she rolled her eyes, that mulish tilt to her jaw angling enough to encompass her irritation – why this had become the headline when all she’d wanted to do was be fucking honest. “Really? That’s what we’re going to argue about? I’d done a shit ton more dangerous things than that,” she huffed. She hadn’t stabbed him so mercilessly when he fucked off into the wilderness for years – well, that bad. “It was just dumb.” Then she hurled the roll of bandages at him, hoping they might ping off his head or one of his many muscles.
Then she leaned back against the tree, arms already crossing at her chest, like stitches of armor where her furrowed brow and irritating endeavors clearly weren’t doing enough. “How the fuck would I know? Wasn’t the first thing I asked him.” Glancing over at the limbs and boughs nearby, she wrinkled her nose, bothered, nettled, thorned herself now. “Koa thought he had one of those mageglass things to enhance his magic – that’s probably what did it.” Then, maybe to make herself feel better, she inwardly picked at the old wound, a reminder. “I’ll get my revenge on him at some point.” When she was stronger. Better.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
