MELITA
Every time Melita glimpsed upon Kiada, she lived in the past. She couldn’t help it – the demise of her home, her world, her family, had been partially orchestrated and assisted in by this girl, by this greedy, avaricious woman who’d craved power – and it pained her to admit that Melita might’ve been the same. That she yearned for power and might and fortitude.
But not at the expense of others. Not at the expense of kingdoms and sovereigns. Not at the expense of people’s loved ones. Perhaps that was the difference – that the youth’s selfishness was there, but not as broad, not as startling.
“I guess not,” she murmured, somewhat defeated, exhausted, fatigued, enough to admit that. But they weren’t friends. She wasn’t going to forgive her. The honeybee girl had every intention of wallowing in her rage, in her temper, until something shifted, changed, and altered. “The past is the only place where I still have them.” Her hands shook against her chipped, cracked, ruptured staff, the fragmented pieces worse and worse after this altercation, but her eyes were vivid, blistering, molten things, the gold not resplendent or luminescent – bold, furious, angry. Trying to be better echoed in her mind, and she had half a notion to laugh and scoff, to snort and push it away, still too sodden in her menace and malice, fumes of contempt and loathing, uncertain where to place it all if she didn’t have it upon her. The girl didn’t know what to say in response to it though, because she was doing the same thing – becoming stronger, braver, an unrelenting force so that none of her kin, her brethren, were injured again, so she could defend them, so she could honor them. She sneered instead, like a red wolf raising her hackles.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
