Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Melita wasn’t certain if she felt shame after Isla’s statement, or merely agreement – but knowing wasn’t the same as doing, and there’d always been some matter of dread in her life. She’d survived on cutting her teeth upon trepidation and using it to ensure she lived to see another day at a very young age – and then just continued from there. “I guess,” she hummed at first. “But I don’t want to be complacent either.” Lulled into false promises of peace and pretenses of swayed serenity, only to be blinded, skewered, and mauled the next. “There’s probably something in between,” and she loosened a laugh so the opposite didn’t strangle her.
The Honeybee probably wasn’t the best to be salt supervisor, but with Isla at the helm, she supposed she ought to be doing more than juggling water back and forth. “Sure.” She figured they needed a lot, considering it’d be necessary to add into the fountain. After a couple more moments and additional layers to the briny components, she added in her two cents. “Think that might be plenty?”
The Honeybee probably wasn’t the best to be salt supervisor, but with Isla at the helm, she supposed she ought to be doing more than juggling water back and forth. “Sure.” She figured they needed a lot, considering it’d be necessary to add into the fountain. After a couple more moments and additional layers to the briny components, she added in her two cents. “Think that might be plenty?”
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
