MELITA
Don’t she wanted to say, when Delah’s words spew out with their solemn snickers and haughty intonations. All she’d ever had were her efforts, her determination, her stubborn, stalwart perseverance, blindly charging into battle, into tasks, into forces, to protect, to pledge, to do something other than wallow in the miserable factions of her life. She could hear it crumbling down around her though – those blessed, beautiful beliefs and creeds, things she’d held onto for what felt like centuries, because it was all she’d had. Maybe her land was boring and brown and lifeless, but that was all she’d known – she’d come from a beautiful realm suddenly encased in darkness due to greed, due to avarice, due to gods and their false paragon statutes, their duplicitous diatribes, the grasping, mercenary claws of her own people dooming and damning them all. “That was the only way I survived,” she murmured, lost in the moments that shaped and scalded her.Delah wasn’t wrong. Melita simply didn’t want to believe it.
But it kept unraveling around her, belonging nowhere, having no one, nothing, you are naught springing against her eyes, ruining whatever smile she’d tried to embody and imagine. She shook her head, gaze registering somewhere on the ground, clinging to something, anything, when it threatened to flicker apart. “My world is dead.” Helovia, lowered into its own catacombs, sepulchers, and knives; but the girl could see the reaches of darkness and blight on the tips of plants and the depths of leaves, raised her gilded stare to the jaguar’s. “Aren’t you afraid yours will be too?”
One arm wrapped around her stomach, a means to comfort herself as Fangorn nestled his way in front of her, like a protective guard no one required. “Then where do I need to go?” She uttered, quiet, the girl who was nowhere and naught.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
