MELITA
For some reason, Melita hadn’t even begun to think she’d be fighting against friends. Allies, comrades, and kindred spirits made had always been something she held near and dear to her heart, the way she’d survived and persisted for so long (save them, her mind would ring and call, protect them). Enemies and adversaries, though easily made, were different, scathing, contemptuous, loathsome things, and they’d never been on the same coin, the same side, the same pendulum.So it was not even a remote concern as she wandered in, her equipment, her weapons, shifting against her frame as the door rose. Her eyes first went to the scattered people above; watchers, witnesses, placing an emboldened smile on her features, and then restlessly bounding inwards.
And then – her name was called.
The youth’s head snapped up at the familiar voice, her illustrious grin wilder, more exuberant, sunshine and fire eclipsed in the bizarre colosseum, in a room binding them all together (and for what?). “Remi!” She rang back, then ushered a wave, before hastening over to his side. Fangorn, for all his part, was nervous, sniffing the ground, eerie eyes darting in all directions – likely striving to decipher the intentions behind anything and everything. The girl, however, was simply lacquered in the unknown, in embers of ignorance and innocence that she shouldn’t have even held. “What do you think is going on?”
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
