I think I thought I saw you try

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

“Ohhh..,” she murmured, half in thought, half in something that felt like regret, but also a sensation of defiant pride. She hadn’t hid, but she could understand why Jigano did – if he didn’t want to join an army, why should he? Melita had simply disguised herself as a boy because there was sedition in the splendor of signing her name up, in becoming potent and powerful beneath the nose of the Merciless, in conquering contortions and coils, in unleashing some sort of sprite hell before she was undermined herself. Perhaps Jigano wouldn’t be impressed with the notion though, so she kept the lie, the disguise, the pretense, to herself, and didn’t judge him for his. Her eyes skimmed over the camouflage, the masquerade intentions, pondering if they’d been successful, or if he’d just been lucky. If they’d all just been lucky. He’d warned her about Ludo before – and it wasn’t to say she hadn’t listened, but the foreboding sensation of being wrong again haunted her, pressed a little weight down between her shoulder blades, encroaching along her spine, twisting and turning down the length of her scar. The bard didn’t say anything about it though, didn’t scold, didn’t press, didn’t lecture, so she eased a breath from her lungs, and listened, instead of simmering, instead of staring off into the distance. Because Jigano always had some sort of information – Wicker Women in these woods, but a rarity, that he’d once been tasked to do the same thing, before the Greatwood had become more than an enigma, and they were reviled as interlopers and trespassers. “Was it hard to get? What did you have to do?” Perhaps she should’ve waited – blurting out the first inquiries to form in her mind, too quick, too swift, only adhering to what he said thereafter on a whim. “Just the sap,” she nodded vigorously, hair wild, locks crimping and curling even more in her movements. “I do know Remi!” Perhaps the aforementioned had dealt with a Wicker Woman in the past, or knew exactly where to find one. How fortuitous! Perhaps her luck was coming back, meeting the right people, having the right friends. Her expression turned lighter, happier, not so angst-riddled, sunshine affectations in the billowing breeze. 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