storm's coming

to be made of sunshine is beautiful

to be the light and the warmth and to be loved

Melita wasn’t certain what to do with the bow and the smile; momentarily disarmed when she’d meant to go in guns blazing, knives drawn behind her grin. It was enough to have her on the backfoot, wondering if they were going to be wandering and meandering around the line until someone slipped and there was a dagger in one of their ribcages. Even the drawl, the question, left her eyes narrowed, but that might’ve been blamed on the rain, the droplets threatening to pummel across her face. “Mm. Quite busy with the Ludo business.” An occupation of antics and amusement, along with her side hustle of beating shit up. “Even got channeled the other day.” No, it didn’t go well, and she was still working through the whole thing.

Then she had to wrestle and toy with her inclinations; to immediately strike a match or let it unfurl, kindle, spark. Melita wasn’t one for soft footfalls and quiet approaches, but perhaps it was time to try a different tactic; it wasn’t unheard of for her to learn new tricks. Still bold, still audacious, weapons somewhere in the midst, but not wholly tangible. Maybe it would depend on his response. So the inquiry came with simplicity, rather than the harsh potentials on her tongue, a long sigh as she leaned against the railing. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving Torchline?”

to be made of sunshine is painful

to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach

MELITA