Melita
Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down
to swallow the flame down
Adding more fuel to the fire, quite literally, was a wondrous process for the Honeybee. The infernal gatherings unfurled and unleashed was a rapid achievement from the pulse of her skin and the quick, rapid, sharp upheaval of magic was just another marvelous pull into the sanctity of power and prestige. Even the change in shape, the hues, the warm, vibrant colors growing hotter and brighter made the incandescence of her smile peak; she gave another wink in Iskra’s direction before they changed course, delved further into the boldness, impudence, and challenge of striving to overcome the element.
She watched as he attempted his next deer launch; more swiftness, more momentum to counteract the heights, and if her heart was in her throat she barely thought anything more of it. Triumphant in his grandeur, Melita whooped and hollered with the rest of them, though purposefully louder, and then made her way over to her starting measures.
Taking a sharp inhale, she whipped forward. Keen on using speed to her advantage as well, she bounded as she’d always done, but with a more pressing point of power in her stride, shooting upwards, and then striving to rally over. The fire threatened to scorch and touch, and gods she was close to flying directly into its ramparts, the heat of its press threatening her limbs with every blistering second, but then her feet were down on the ground, and she lurched forward, almost losing her upright position. In a flush of adrenaline, she looked back at the bonfire and grinned again, turning to face the crowd with arms reaching up victoriously. “All you now, Firehawk!” she goaded again, before taking strides towards Iskra, lowering her voice to a whisper against the grains. “Think we should let him win?” Her brow arched; reasons cast mostly because he'd been bolder than the rest (themselves excluded), and maybe that should've been rewarded.
She watched as he attempted his next deer launch; more swiftness, more momentum to counteract the heights, and if her heart was in her throat she barely thought anything more of it. Triumphant in his grandeur, Melita whooped and hollered with the rest of them, though purposefully louder, and then made her way over to her starting measures.
Taking a sharp inhale, she whipped forward. Keen on using speed to her advantage as well, she bounded as she’d always done, but with a more pressing point of power in her stride, shooting upwards, and then striving to rally over. The fire threatened to scorch and touch, and gods she was close to flying directly into its ramparts, the heat of its press threatening her limbs with every blistering second, but then her feet were down on the ground, and she lurched forward, almost losing her upright position. In a flush of adrenaline, she looked back at the bonfire and grinned again, turning to face the crowd with arms reaching up victoriously. “All you now, Firehawk!” she goaded again, before taking strides towards Iskra, lowering her voice to a whisper against the grains. “Think we should let him win?” Her brow arched; reasons cast mostly because he'd been bolder than the rest (themselves excluded), and maybe that should've been rewarded.
to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun
to be the sun
