a little violence as a treat

your dreams are all full of war
you are from another time

Melita supposed, if she ever received a shift, she’d also want to play and taunt and be a little shit to her impending victims. As such, it was with a wild cackle as the dragon toyed with his food, shaking her head merrily before ensuring her companions were all right and well, before stretching out her shoulders and commending their movements on a mission accomplished. “Well, that was fun.” Knowing he couldn’t talk back and not really caring, she hoisted her bag further up her arm, fiddling with the ends of the strings, studying his motions for half a second.

“I’m going to head out, unless you see some other shit we could fry.” Her uncle was bound to be halfway ready by now, and her patience, tragically thin as it was, had returned to its more restless platitudes. The actions had done a great service though in ensuring she wasn’t bored and peeved out of her mind – a nice little chaotic emblem to the afternoon.

salvation doesn't look like light
So what remains?

Melita