Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Melita was grateful to have Isla there, because in all retrospect, she wouldn’t have had the first idea on distilling sea salt from the water. At least, not without some way to commit violence. “That’ll work,” she offered in response to the Ancient’s directions and thoughts, as if she had anything else to contribute but her chaotic glance towards the sea. She’d long since given up on her hair in the ensuing weather, and strolled lightly, letting the crimson curls billow around in their own hints of bedlam. “I brought some jugs for the water,” tucked under her arm, extending one out to Isla if she wanted to grab too. “It’s probably gonna take a lot, huh?”
Glancing upwards at the darkening, graying sky, she shrugged; not wholly bothered by the prospect of rain, but she could see where the permeating chill might not be good for Isla. “All right, let’s get this going.” At which she rolled up her sleeves, knotted the ends of her dress, and proceeded towards the waves rolling in on the coast, wading in and dipping the jug into the tide.
Glancing upwards at the darkening, graying sky, she shrugged; not wholly bothered by the prospect of rain, but she could see where the permeating chill might not be good for Isla. “All right, let’s get this going.” At which she rolled up her sleeves, knotted the ends of her dress, and proceeded towards the waves rolling in on the coast, wading in and dipping the jug into the tide.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
