girls can be dangerous and still win
Melita was, perhaps, a touch overly fond of vengeance. Her stories, while some mired in tragedy, weren’t going to be diminished into naught but wallowing, melancholic tales; she wanted fire and brimstone against the transgressions. A reflection of her own life in some ways – though she never quite got the lacquer of resurgence against some; too little, too late. The same wouldn’t be said for her heroine, and while Iskra contemplated the sudden alterations and changes, the Honeybee plunged forward, intending to wrap up the saga. “One would think. Hope. But maybe he'd just wanted to find other victims first. Leave her for last.” Who could fathom the way such demons worked? She shrugged, taking hold of another chip and going for milder means, half inclined to bug him and break off his so he might have to go fishing for it in the salsa lagoon. “Violet couldn’t hear everything said or the actions that took place that night. She probably didn’t want to. And so she waited, below the window, thinking of the ghosts of those girls. When the sun rose the next morning, the house was silent. Only then did she go in, finding exactly how she’d pictured the scene – signs of a struggle, her father mysteriously dead on the floor, and the golem too.”
Dusting her hands off again, she leaned back against the bench, eyes flickering towards the horizon, then back to Iskra. “She snagged a piece of his shirt, her own little trophy, before heading to the haunted house. She placed it amongst the things of the girls, recognizing the last piece her father had left – Calla’s ring. But then Violet could hear the sound of the spirits – the thank yous, the quiet pleas disappearing, laid to rest and gone to the realm of the dead. Thereafter though, she had to decide what to do. Everyone would think her just as perished.” She wrapped her hands around her knees, tucking them into her chest, granting a slow smile. “So she headed down the road, on to the next village – starting something anew.”
Her nose wrinkled, uncertain if she was satisfied with everything, but nonetheless, the story was out there and complete. “There. What’d ya think?”
Dusting her hands off again, she leaned back against the bench, eyes flickering towards the horizon, then back to Iskra. “She snagged a piece of his shirt, her own little trophy, before heading to the haunted house. She placed it amongst the things of the girls, recognizing the last piece her father had left – Calla’s ring. But then Violet could hear the sound of the spirits – the thank yous, the quiet pleas disappearing, laid to rest and gone to the realm of the dead. Thereafter though, she had to decide what to do. Everyone would think her just as perished.” She wrapped her hands around her knees, tucking them into her chest, granting a slow smile. “So she headed down the road, on to the next village – starting something anew.”
Her nose wrinkled, uncertain if she was satisfied with everything, but nonetheless, the story was out there and complete. “There. What’d ya think?”
Melita
she knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in
