devils hide behind redemption

MELITA

Fangorn attempted to mimic the howl, but it endured as a long-winded grumble, ending on an eldritch, unnerving pinnacle; like haunted, wild animals, caged predators, rapacious emblems. Melita quirked her brow and tried to muffle her laughter, watching the pair trade foolishness, glad for something beyond sorrow, beyond melancholy, beyond disasters and ruin.

She tilted her head to listen, hands restlessly pressing into the darker enamel and coating of her staff. A training ring, boxing sounded amusing, a diversion amidst all the other pinnacles of either thwarting havoc, wreckage, and rubble, or becoming a part, a portion, of the assembled mayhem. It inspired another hum under her breath, voice slightly sing-song as she gazed at maneuvering, wandering companions, at intervals of reposed nuances. “That sounds nice,” a mischievous smile dancing on the edges of her mouth. She’d frequent there too – between the Monster Hunter’s Guild training grounds, somehow not lost to the fire, untouched despite the conflagration breathing down their necks.

For some reason the youth didn’t expect the inquiry to round back onto her – and she really didn’t have an answer. What was she going to do? Planning had never been in her parameters, talents, or virtues – thriving on impulse, on treacherous lines, on impetuous moments, springing her way through the ether with hasty, passionate, reckless, and emboldened, audacious fringes. She breathed resolve, but really didn’t have anywhere to place it. “All I’ve ever done was survive.” A shrug to match his, eyes fumbling down to the ground as her nose wrinkled, as she thought and pondered. “Maybe I’ll help rebuild the Monster Hunter’s Guild. Keep destroying demons.” And live with the rest of them – the ones she couldn’t push away from her memories.

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight