Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
“Huh,” she added with a slight furrow to her brow. She hadn’t paid much attention to subtle differences in seasons in the past (save for when they were full of electrical issues and she spent nearly every waking minute on high alert), but nowadays they seemed to be fundamental in Caido. “I wonder if shit’s just taking longer to thaw,” and that was that – not something else deviating the lines.
Turning and twisting the stems around one another, her plan began to take shape, weaving the flowers in and out until they began to form a crown; hues blending into vibrant blues and subtle greens. All the while, she listened to his new friend notions, tilting her head vaguely when he mentioned someone she already knew. Her gilded gaze flicked to him, mind beginning to snag and pinpoint and wonder who before the name slid across. She kept her features neutral, save for the moment where she’d pinpointed the title in her memories. “Ohhhh Niki – yeah, I’ve met him. Likes dead things. Can reanimate ‘em.” Or had, at least with the butterflies, as if they’d been resurrected and turned back into more than just carcasses.
“Crashing on the couch” made her snort. “Conveniently couldn’t make it home?” came on a wink, but nothing more, turning her attention back to the circlet. “What’d he make for you?”
Turning and twisting the stems around one another, her plan began to take shape, weaving the flowers in and out until they began to form a crown; hues blending into vibrant blues and subtle greens. All the while, she listened to his new friend notions, tilting her head vaguely when he mentioned someone she already knew. Her gilded gaze flicked to him, mind beginning to snag and pinpoint and wonder who before the name slid across. She kept her features neutral, save for the moment where she’d pinpointed the title in her memories. “Ohhhh Niki – yeah, I’ve met him. Likes dead things. Can reanimate ‘em.” Or had, at least with the butterflies, as if they’d been resurrected and turned back into more than just carcasses.
“Crashing on the couch” made her snort. “Conveniently couldn’t make it home?” came on a wink, but nothing more, turning her attention back to the circlet. “What’d he make for you?”
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
