MELITA
That could’ve gone better.A range of emotions blistered through her: a gleeful, proud satisfaction as her arrow hits its intended target, as some measure of precision managed to grab hold of the vines, as Remi’s incantations appeared to control the gourd sovereign for a time.
But so content in those single, solitary seconds, that she missed the vine whipping towards her. It grabbed and snaked around her waist, lifting her into the air (don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream, they’ll hear you, they’ll find you echoed through her form, her mind; like a vice, like a noose, like days spent hiding from monsters). Only a muffled series of gasps managed to collide through her chest, billowing out into the frosty air – surprise, shock, awe, and fear. It’s the latter that fueled her, pushed her, irked her, rankled her, inspired her. Her arms and legs kicked and flailed at the vine, punching, launching, assailing as best she could, incapable of reaching for her bow now on the ground, on the useless quiver bouncing along her back.
This was so stupid. So dumb.
And she felt incredibly useless, maneuvering around the air, about to be eaten, about to be consumed, managing to live her life without being swallowed or broken apart until now - within the range of a frickin’ vampire pumpkin. After she’d saved her own –
Fangorn was below, screeching, howling, and growling, at the king. She couldn’t understand, too lost in her own muddled seconds and snippets, thinking she heard down, let down, down, but it could’ve been her wishful thinking.
Ludo, she called, deep in her stupefied, enraged self, with her fists flying and her mercurial endeavors blistering. What do I do?
--
Melita is picked up by the pumpkin king, and flails around trying to hit it. She channels Ludo. Fangorn growls at the gourd, hoping he’ll put her down.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
