Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Many likely thought Melita incapable of anything other than impulsive thoughts – mind full of naught but brazen possibilities and an alarming lack of quandaries. Fortunately or not, that was far from the truth, for while they dispersed amidst shop stalls, cocoa, and baked goods, she stewed. It could’ve been funneled as a spiral even, because as one thought meandered through, another followed, larger and bigger than before, in a vivid snowball bouncing back and forth along her skull.
Because twice they’d kissed and he’d said nothing about it afterwards. Just seemed to flee into anything else. Maybe he was pretending it didn’t happen. Maybe he hadn’t liked it. Maybe he didn’t think much of it.
So then the Honeybee had to wonder if it’d just been a mistake and to cut her losses there with anything on the subject, or pester and poke the bear. She was sorely tempted towards the latter, but the more she sulked and pondered over it, she figured it was something wrong and amiss on her end, and inevitably just shut her mouth. She'd missed all those immature years where these sorts of dilemmas and predicaments would've been a highlight; had spent it surviving instead.
By the time it’d flickered into her head again, they were already at his house; having tugged and tossed Goose’s rope a myriad of times, stripped down to layers that were suitable to actually walking around, ensuring she still kept his stolen sweater over her fleece-lined leggings. Fangorn and Sila had made a beeline for the fire, which was where she’d inevitably curled herself up too, staring out over the materials with a huff. “Not all the time,” she answered, and if she sounded a little dim instead of bright, perhaps Iskra would account for the frustration over the current task, rather than everything else clawing into her skull. “It can be. Depends on what else we all end up doing there.” Last time had been some kind of dancing thing, she was pretty sure.
As for wanting anything, she shook her head – though she’d likely alter that formation once the cider’s smell drifted into the home. “Nah, I’m good,” plucking out the needle and thread necessary – and stifling a sigh, because she was going to have to hone concentration on this.
Because twice they’d kissed and he’d said nothing about it afterwards. Just seemed to flee into anything else. Maybe he was pretending it didn’t happen. Maybe he hadn’t liked it. Maybe he didn’t think much of it.
So then the Honeybee had to wonder if it’d just been a mistake and to cut her losses there with anything on the subject, or pester and poke the bear. She was sorely tempted towards the latter, but the more she sulked and pondered over it, she figured it was something wrong and amiss on her end, and inevitably just shut her mouth. She'd missed all those immature years where these sorts of dilemmas and predicaments would've been a highlight; had spent it surviving instead.
By the time it’d flickered into her head again, they were already at his house; having tugged and tossed Goose’s rope a myriad of times, stripped down to layers that were suitable to actually walking around, ensuring she still kept his stolen sweater over her fleece-lined leggings. Fangorn and Sila had made a beeline for the fire, which was where she’d inevitably curled herself up too, staring out over the materials with a huff. “Not all the time,” she answered, and if she sounded a little dim instead of bright, perhaps Iskra would account for the frustration over the current task, rather than everything else clawing into her skull. “It can be. Depends on what else we all end up doing there.” Last time had been some kind of dancing thing, she was pretty sure.
As for wanting anything, she shook her head – though she’d likely alter that formation once the cider’s smell drifted into the home. “Nah, I’m good,” plucking out the needle and thread necessary – and stifling a sigh, because she was going to have to hone concentration on this.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
