I only feel alive inside the flame

MELITA

Melita was not the most optimistic of individuals, but she could ascertain how Iskra wove the parameters back into potential and lightness, rather than the nettled irritation currently thorning at her sides. “Maybe,” she forged, though it came with a caveat of a wrinkle to her nose and more mulling and musing; quieter now, thoughts rambling on ends and means. Perhaps Ludo had seen him as reliant rather than giving himself over to the potential of a summoned herald – she knew Safrin expected her followers to be wholly and fully committed to her cause. The raggedy herald wasn’t the same, but the notion of lending itself to someone who had guaranteed a boon, rather than striving simply for himself, could’ve been the root cause of some vexation. “We’ll see how things go on your own then,” was an addition, a challenge in the tilt of her head.

She’d stood alone, but she’d also been an Accepted, which she could admit made things easier. She’d tied herself to the chaos and bedlam and menace without the slightest hesitation. Perhaps that’s what Iskra needed to do too.

Launching her chin into a more seditious and heightened manner now that they’d decided on a course of action, she accepted the little touch of his hand on hers, brushing her fingers against his and giving them a quiet shake, as if to encourage promises or solidarity on the forefront.

But then there was a distraction – neither bone nor bleached portions – an egg, bright against the surroundings. “Huh,” was a brief utterance before she scooted closer, crouching to inspect. “What the fuck would have an egg out here,” especially one this colorful. Much like her avid rock collection, she plucked it out of the sand, holding it up for inspection. Painted, seemingly by hand….had someone just been casting these around, even in the desert? “Well, mine now,” she grinned, pocketing it once Iskra was done glancing at the shape and weird hot air balloon fixtures.

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight