[SE] Catch the Sun Before It Sparks Afire

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

Ludo didn’t seem much different from the stories and legends of Helovia’s deities, spiraled and woven from her mother’s lips, myths transcribed as bedtime novelties; between the Moon Goddess and her manipulative schemes, using mortals as tool and instruments of horror, murder, the Sun God’s capricious efforts, and the Time God’s messy handlings of procuring offspring, with the Earth God being the gentlest of them all – she’d have to listen to each and every nuance, to understand, to even wonder how far she’d long to delve into piety. Reverence had been entangled within her once, but after Kaos’ menacing, minatory reign, she’d cast them all aside, journeying to shrines to see, to know, to understand, and even then, there’d been naught. She did note, however, that Jigano had left one out – perhaps he hadn’t experienced anything with this being either. “What about Frey? I haven’t heard much about them.” She absorbed the information, noting within her fiery little mind, humming briefly again, grabbing hold of her apple and snapping a piece off between her teeth. She wasn’t sure if she could’ve been an oracle in Jigano’s world either. It sounded as though there was choice, but not, bred and determined in their bloodline. Melita lived for determining her own destiny and fortune, ascribing to her own strengths, flaws, and frailties, constantly working to better herself. But she’d also yet to find an occupation, naught completely tempting her except imminent, impulsive, impetuous danger, baptized the moment she set foot into the Rift, struggling to protect her sister, mourning her mother. But the youth didn’t have much to say to Jigano’s description, hadn’t lived in the serenity of mysteries, had only longed and yearned for safety, for sanctuary, as they ran and hid, as they ducked and divided, as they cut and slashed and sought survival for another day. She simply hung her head and stared at the ground, eyeing small crickets leaping by, listening to the crows’ munch, taking small bites of her apple, hoping to savor it. “Thank you,” she proffered in response his acknowledgments; then he didn’t ask anything more. Perhaps the bard sensed continuing on would be bestial and damning, extending her twin’s death sentence back out in the open; no more songs, no more flowers, no more halcyon days. “Maybe we’ll see one here!” She laughed wistfully, a whimsical air restored at the thought of the ocean: childhood enchantments never quite wearing away. M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe